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DURHAM  VILLAGE; 


TEMPERANCE    TALE 


BY 


CORK  A    LYNN 


BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED  BY  JOHN  P.  JEWETT  &  COMPANY. 

CLEVELAND,   OHIO: 

JEWETT,  PROCTOR  &  WORT1IINGTON. 

1854. 


" 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 

JOHN    P.    JEWETT   &   CO., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED    BY 

110BART   &    BOBBINS, 
BOSTON. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  ARRIVAL, 5 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE   CURSE,       11 

CHAPTER    III. 

THE  FUNERAL, 17 

CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  DEPARTURE, 22 

CHAPTER    V. 

THE   FIRST   GLIMPSE   OF   THE  CITY, 27 

CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   DISCOVERY,       33 

CHAPTER    VII. 

THE   NEW   HOME, •    .  40 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
THE  PARSON'S  COMMISSION, 46 

CHAPTER    IX. 
A  WOMAN'S  "  SPHERE," 55 

CHAPTER    X. 

THE   SICK   ROOM, 64 

CHAPTER    XI. 

WHAT   CAN   BE   DONE  ? 70 

CHAPTER    XII. 

THE   COUNTRY   SEAT, 77 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XIII. 


THE  DEN, 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE   LOST  FOUND, 90 

CHAPTER    XV. 

THE   COUNTRY   SEAT, 100 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

FRANK  DOWNER, 108 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

VOTING-DAY, 114 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

LITTLE  ARTHUR, 120 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE   DISCLOSURE, 125 

CHAPTER    XX. 

FRANK  DOWNER, 131 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE  RIDE  TO   THE  CITY, 137 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

ADVENTURES  OP  THE  CITY  GENTLEMEN, 143 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE   SECRET  PAPERS, 149 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

NO   HOPE, 155 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE   TWO   SIDES, 159 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE   RETRIBUTION, 164 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE   PROPOSAL,        169 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

172 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE   ARRIVAL. 

THE  horses  trotted  briskly  through  the  main  street. 
They  seemed  to  know  they  had  come  from  the  city, 
and  meant  to  do  the  best  they  could  to  astonish  the 
quiet  villagers ;  they  champed  their  shining  bits,  held 
up  their  dappled  necks,  and  left  a  cloud  of  dust  behind 
them.  Their  driver  was  as  pleased  and  proud  as  they. 
It  was  his  first  visit  to  his  old  homestead  since  he  had 
left  it  six  years  ago,  and  he  returned  the  owner  of  the 
light  carriage  and  the  fine  grays.  He  had  not,  how 
ever,  forgotten  the  way  to  his  home,  and,  as  he  turned 
off'  the  main  street  into  an  almost  grass-grown  path, 
the  memory  of  his  boyhood  crept  over  him,  and  insens 
ibly  he  checked  his  horses  into  a  walk.  There  lay 
the  path  to  the  pond,  and  there  the  walnut  forest ;  here 
he  had  cut  poles  from  the  brush,  and  there  he  had 
climbed  the  hill  for  the  stray  sheep.  0 !  happy, 
innocent  days  of  childhood !  The  busy,  noisy,  bus 
tling  world,  of  which  he  now  knew  far  too  much,  had 
not  then  entered,  with  its  snares;  and  he  knew  and  felt 
that  his  heart  had  not  been  a  gainer,  and  willingly 
would  have  stepped  back  into  its  purity,  and  been 
once  again  a  child. 


6  :  r/uiinAM  'VILLAGE. 

But  now  the  slanting  roof  of  the  farm-house  was 
just  visible  through  the  trees,  now  out  of  sight,  then 
again  in  view ;  and,  impatient  to  meet  its  inmates,  he 
gave  loose  rein  and  dashed  on. 

"  Betty,  Betty !  do  look  out  yonder.  There  's  a 
stranger  coming  up  the  road.  He  has  either  lost  his 
way,  or  else  I  'm  afeard  his  horses  have  run  away  with 
him." 

"How  like  blazers  he  comes,  grandma'am,  don't 
he  ?  "  said  a  rough  voice  behind  the  old  lady's  chair. 
"  I  was  just  now  looking  out  the  barn  winder,  and  I 
seed  him  take  the  turn  by  the  grist-mill.  Thinks  I,  I  '11 
go  and  tell  Betty ;  and  I  was  a  coming  leisurely  along 
when  I  looked  and  seed  he  'd  got  to  the  bridge  ;  then 
thinks  I,  I  had  better  put,  and  come  like  a  streak. 
Blazers !  " 

The  last  ejaculation  was  uttered  as  the  young  man 
dashed  into  the  yard,  reined  his  spirited  horses  in  at 
the  door,  and,  before  Betty  could  disengage  her  hand 
from  the  spinning-wheel,  had  thrown  his  arms  about 
her  neck. 

"  It  is  my  William !  "  was  all  she  could,  for  the 
moment,  say ;  and  then  came  a  flood  of  tears  to  her 
relief. 

"  And  here  's  grandmother,  too  !  "  he  said,  advanc 
ing  towards  the  old  lady's  chair,  from  which  she  had 
endeavored  twice  to  rise,  in  vain ;  "  knitting  the  very 
same  stocking,  I  do  believe  !  And  honest  Ephraim, 
my  man,  how  are  you  ?  "  and  he  gave  him  a  right 
cordial  shake  of  the  hand.  "  But  where  are  father 
and  the  girls,  mother  ?  " 


\ 


DURHAM    VILLAGE. 


"  They  have  gone  down  to  Ermine  Swamp  for  the 
day :  but  I  '11  send  Ephraim  for  them." 

"  No,  no ;  I  will  take  a  stroll  down  that  way  when 
it  is  about  time  for  them  to  be  starting  for  home,  and 
Ephraim  may  take  the  horses  out  of  harness  for  me. 
Don't  feed  them  yet." 
/?  "  No,  sir ;  "  and  Ephraim  was  off  in  an  instant. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  table  almost  groaned  with 
the  weight  of  good  cheer ;  not  such  as  William  had 
tasted  at  the  Globe  Hotel,  where  he  boarded  when  in 
the  city,  but  the  right  healthful,  hearty,  farmer's  fare 
of  his  youth ;  and  I  doubt  whether  he  had  enjoyed  a 
meal  as  much,  since  the  last  time  the  same  hands  had 
spread  the  white  cloth. 

"  Now,  mother,  I  'm  off  for  the  woods.  If  I  recol 
lect  rightly,  over  Dun  Meadow  is  the  shortest  path." 

"  Yes ;  and  turn  to  the  left  when  you  reach  the  four 
corners." 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  know  me,  mother  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  he  stepped  from  the  door. 

"  I  think  father  will,  but  the  girls  not." 

Betty  stood  long  at  the  window,  watching  her  boy 
until  he  had  turned  from  sight ;  and  there  was  a  moth 
erly  pride  in  her  manner  when  she  said, 

"  Is  not  he  handsome,  mother  ?  Did  you  notice 
his  eyes,  and  how  beautifully  his  hair  curls  ?  I  can 
scarcely  believe  he  is  my  boy,  though  they  say  I  was 
handsome  when  I  was  young." 

"  There  was  not  a  handsomer  than  you  in  all  Dur 
ham,  Bessy,  if  I  do  say  it ;  and  the  boy  looks  well 


3  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

enough.  *  Handsome  is  what  handsome  does,'  though," 
added  the  old  lady ;  "  and  I  hope  William  is  a  likely 
lad." 

Ermine  Swamp  lay  about  three  miles  from  the  farm 
house,  and  yet  the  way  seemed  short  to  William,  lying 
as  it  did  amid  scenes  so  familiar  to  him.  Every  tree 
seemed  like  an  old  friend,  and  an  honest  one.  The 
birds  appeared  like  the  same  which  had  sung  to  him 
when  a  boy ;  and  they  sung  as  sweetly  as  ever  now, 
though  he  thought  they  were  more  frightened  at  his 
footfall  than  once  they  were.  Was  it  that  they  could 
read  the  past  ?  Thus  he  walked  on,  busy  with  his 
thoughts,  now  happy  and  now  sad,  until  the  sound 
of  voices  reminded  him  that  those  whom  he  sought 
were  near.  A  step  more  brought  them  in  sight.  He 
had  forgotten  that  six  years  could  change  the  child 
into  the  maiden,  and  now  stood  astonished  at  the  group 
before  him. 

Partly  concealed  by  the  tall  trees  which  stood  boldly 
out  from  the  forest,  stood  the  elder  sister,  but  not  so 
much  concealed  that  he  could  not  mark  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  her  form  and  features,  her  face  glowing 
with  the  freshness  which  air  and  exercise  had  given  it. 
Edith  Lundley  was  the  acknowledged  beauty  of  the 
village.  Near  by,  seated  upon  the  side  of  the  cart, 
was  the  younger  sister,  in  the  first  budding  of  woman 
hood.  His  quick  eye  detected  a  strange  paleness  in 
her  face,  and  a  slightness  of  form  which  made  him 
tremble,  for  he  thought  of  the  four  who  lay  in  the 
church-yard.  Her  head  rested  upon  one  hand,  and  in 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  9 

t 

the  other  she  held  a  book,  upon  which  she  was  so  intent 
that  she  did  not  hear  her  father's  call  to  drive  the  horse 
that  way,  until  he  had  hallooed  three  times.  Then, 
taking  the  reins,  she  drove  on  until  she  reached  the 
place,  and  the  red-faced,  hard-working  farmer  emerged 
from  the  woods,  with  his  arms  filled  with  bark,  and 
threw  it  into  the  wagon. 

"  Time  has  not  changed  him,"  thought  William. 
"He  is  as  strong  and  hard  to  work,  as  bound  up  in 
his  lands,  as  ever,"  and  he  stepped  in  sight  just  as  the 
farmer  turned  back  into  the  woods.  Edith  uttered  an 
exclamation  which  made  her  father  turn  quickly,  for 
she  had  been  startled  at  the  sudden  appearance  of 
the  stranger,  and  Julia  dropped  her  book. 

Farmer  Lundley  knew  too  well  the  features  which 
had  charmed  him  in  his  youth,  and  been  the  pride  of 
his  manhood,  not  to  recognize  them  in  his  boy. 

"  Your  mother's  son,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  grasped 
him  with  a  hearty  "  grip,"  and  shook  his  hands  until 
they  ached.  "  Here,  girls,  —  this  is  your  brother." 

Julia  sprang  from  her  seat  and  gave  him  a  hearty 
kiss ;  but  Edith,  —  ah  !  Edith,  —  conscious  of  her 
beauty,  and  accustomed  to  be  shy  with  her  tempting 
lips,  extended  to  him  the  hand,  with  a  deeper  coloring 
on  her  cheeks. 

"  I  am  not  so  easily  cheated  out  of  my  brother's 
rights,"  he  said,  playfully,  as  he  drew  her  towards  him 
and  gave  the  kiss  which  she  did  not  return. 

Farmer  Lundley  stayed  no  longer  for  his  bark,  but 
all  mounting  the  cart,  reached  home  just  as  Betty  had 


10  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

taken  down  the  old  shell,  and  made  its  first  echoes 
heard  in  Ermine  Swamp. 

The  evening  passed  quickly.  William  had  many 
questions  to  ask  of  the  past,  and  answers  were  ready 
and  lively  until  the  clock  struck  nine.  Then  Farmer 
Lundley  took  down  the  old  family  Bible,  and,  after  a 
fervent  prayer  and  thanksgiving  to  God,  they  retired 
to  their  rooms.  The  good  farmer  and  his  wife  kneeled 
again  in  the  stillness  of  their  chamber,  and  prayed 
God  to  bless  and  protect  their  only  boy.  William 
locked  his  door,  took  out  a  flask  of  brandy  from  his 
trunk,  turned  out  a  half-glass,  drank  it,  and  was  soon 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE   CURSE. 

DURHAM  VILLAGE  was  like  one  of  our  New  England 
towns.  A  thriving  colony  of  farmers  had  first  settled 
it,  and  those  who  came  after  them,  the  present  inher 
itors  of  the  soil,  had  entered  into  the  fruit  of  their 
labors.  Excepting  a  few  houses  built  near  together, 
a  kind  of  cortege  to  the  meeting-house,  school-house 
and  inn,  the  houses  of  the  villagers  were  scattered  far 
and  wide  upon  their  own  lands,  and  it  was  only  on  the 
Sabbath,  or  by  some  particular  call  to  the  people,  that 
they  met  together  as  a  body.  A  political  meeting,  an 
abolition  lecture,  a  temperance  convention,  was  sure  to 
gather  them  all  as  one  mass. 

Deacon  Lundley  seemed  to  be  the  man  among  the 
farmers,  and  few  dared  oppose  what  he  really  put  his 
hand  to  accomplish.  He  had  not  gained  the  ascend 
ency  by  physical  power,  but  was  indebted  to  a  kind, 
honest  heart,  and  a  good,  sound  head,  for  his  position. 
He  had  thrown  forth  his  sympathies  for  the  slave,  and 
when  the  cause  of  temperance  was  agitated  in  the  vil 
lage  he  roused  himself  like  a  giant,  and  went  out 
heart  and  hand  in  its  defence.  He  went  so  far  as  to 


12  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

tear  down  the  old  cider-mill  in  his  yard,  and  never, 
even  in  haying-time,  offered  this  indispensable  bev 
erage  to  his  workmen.  Many  grumbled,  and  swore 
they  would  be  revenged  for  that,  and  yet  never  one 
refused  to  come  to  his  help. 

William  knew  this  strange  fancy,  as  he  called  it, 
of  his  father's,  and,  when  he  rose  in  the  morning,  locked 
his  trunk,  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

Ephraim,  according  to  direction,  "  brought  up  "  the 
grays  to  the  door,  after  breakfast ;  and  William,  taking 
his  two  sisters  into  the  carriage,  started  off  on  an  ex 
ploring  expedition. 

"  Don't  you  tip  them  over,  mister,"  said  Ephraim, 
as  he  handed  the  lines  to  the  young  man ;  "  cos,  if 
Edith  should  get  one  scratch,  somebody  would  cry  !  " 
and  he  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  winked  both  his  gray 
eyes,  chucked  his  hands  in  his  pocket,  and  went  whis 
tling  down  to  the  barn. 

"  Who  's  somebody  ?  "  inquired  William. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Edith.  "  Ephraim  is  an 
odd  soul,  and  is  always  saying  something  of  the  kind. 
Nobody  that  I  know  of,  in  this  quiet  place.  Do  you 
know  that  I  am  tired  of  it  ?  I  want  to  go  back  to  the 
city  with  you.  I've  lived  here  eighteen  years.  I 
want  to  see  something  of  the  world.  I  think  mother 
would  trust  me  under  your  care,  and  I  could  find  some 
thing  to  do." 

"  But  what  will  become  of  Julia  ?  "  he  replied,  hes 
itatingly;  for  he  was  not  a  little  pleased  with  the 
thought  of  introducing  so  blooming  a  sister  to  his  city 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  13 

friends,  and  he  thought,  with  his  watchful  eye  over 
her,  she  would  escape  all  contaminating  influences. 
"  Say,  what  will  become  of  Julia  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  taste  for  city  life,"  she  replied,  for 
herself.  "I  love  my  own  quiet  home  too  well  to 
leave  it  —  this  pure  air  for  the  pent-up  breath  of  the 
city  !  "  and  she  shuddered,  as  it  were,  at  the  thought. 

"  0,  no ;  Julia  could  not  be  persuaded  to  go,"  in 
terrupted  Edith.  "  She  had  rather  stay  at  home,  and 
read,  read,  read  !  " 

"  She  is  a  book-worm,  then,  is  she,  —  a  regular 
blue  ? " 

"  Yes,  nothing  but  books,  —  that  is,  when  she  can 
get  them  to  read." 

Julia  made  no  reply.  She  was  just  then  watching 
the  light  and  shade  of  the  summer  clouds  as  they 
played  over  the  distant  mountains,  and  Edith  con 
tinued, 

"  Say,  Willie,  do  propose  it  to  father  to-night.  It 
will  be  such  a  grand  chance  for  me  to  go,  riding  with 
you  all  the  way.  Say,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will.  I  want  somebody  there  with  me  ; 
and,  if  they  will  let  you  go,  I  will  take  a  house,  and  we 
will  go  to  house-keeping." 

Edith's  dream  seemed  about  to  be  fulfilled.  She 
was  a  restless  spirit,  and  had  often  pictured  to  herself 
a  city  home,  an  object  in  the  dim  future,  but  now 
she  felt  almost  sure  soon  to  be  enjoyed.  And  then 
she  could  be  of  such  use  to  William ;  he  needed  some 
one.  How  tidy  she  would  keep  his  things,  and  —  but 
2 


14  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

her  imagination  had  taken  her  far  away  from  real  life, 
and  she  was  now  in  her  dream-land. 

At  this  moment  the  "  grays  "  took  an  unaccountable 
start  clear  to  the  side  of  the  road,  and  William  had 
hard  work  to  keep  them  from  running,  though  in  his 
heart  he  did  not  much  blame  them,  for  the  same  object 
which  first  startled  them  startled  him  also,  when  he 
had  a  clear  view  of  it ;  and,  as  soon  as  possible,  he 
reined  the  horses  to  a  fence,  and  approached  the  object 
on  foot. 

Extended  full  length  upon  the  ground,  lay  the  ap 
parently  lifeless  form  of  a  man,  and,  bending  over 
him,  unconscious  of  the  approach  of  strangers,  a  fe 
male  figure  stood  convulsed  with  grief.  Neither  was 
young;  the  man  seemed  upwards  of  fifty,  and  the 
woman  about  forty- eight. 

"  Dead — gone  !  dead !  dead !  "  she  almost  screamed, 
as  she  saw  the  party  approaching  her.  "  Dead — gone ! 
Curses  rest  on  Giles  Standish  —  curses  on  him  and  his 
bairns  !  He  gave  him  the  last  drink,  though  I  stood 
by  wringing  my  hands.  I  told  him  't  would  kill  him 
then,  for  it  is  na  a  week  syn  the  fever  left  him.  Dead, 
gone,  —  a  curse  !  "  and  she  held  up  her  hand,  and 
threw  herself  into  an  attitude  of  supplication,  and 
again  ejaculated,  "  Great  Judge  —  a  curse  !  " 

"  0,  do  not !  "  entreated  Julia,  laying  her  hand  upon 
the  frantic  woman ;  "  do  not !  It  does  him  no  good 
now,  and  it  makes  me  tremble  to  hear  you." 

"  I  say  a  curse,  my  lady,  and  I  mean  a  curse.  I 
feel  it  here,"  she  added,  laying  her  hand  on  her  heart. 


DURHAM   VILLAGE.  15 

"  There  was  na  a  kinder  than  he,  when  Giles  Standish 
kept  out  of  his  way.  The  devil  himself  is  na  a  match 
for  that  mon,  and  Jamie  ne'er  withstood  him,  and  here 
is  the  end.  Ye  canna  blame  me ;  ye  wad  curse  him 
yoursell  if —  "  Here  she  cast  a  glance  at  William, 
and  back  again  to  Julia.  "  Ye  are  bonnie  now,"  she 
added  ;  "  so  once  were  we." 

Edith  had  stood  by,  motionless  as  a  statue.  To  her 
proud  spirit,  the  kindest  thing  another  could  have 
done  for  her  would  have  been  to  have  left  her  to 
her  grief.  There  was  a  sacredness,  too,  in  it,  to  her  ; 
and  therefore  she  kept  silent,  and  did  not  move  until 
William  turned  to  her  and  said, 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  Dare  you  remain  here  until 
I  go  back  for  aid  ?  or  dare  you  drive  yourself?  One 
of  the  two  must  be  done.  The  horses  are  generally 
gentle." 

"  I  am  used  to  driving,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  not 
the  slightest  fear,  if  you  will  trust  me.  I  had  by  far 
rather  go  than  stay.  Shall  I  ?  " 

There  was  so  much  courage  in  the  girl's  tone,  that 
William  did  not  hesitate,  but,  turning  the  carriage, 
helped  her  in,  and  cautioned  her  not  to  drive  fast. 

Ephraim  was  standing,  as  usual,  at  the  barn  win 
dow.  It  was  his  favorite  resort.  If  work  were  done, 
if  he  had  a  moment's  spare  time,  he  was  sure  to  be 
there,  surveying  the  country.  He  had  thus  watched 
the  growing  up  of  the  pine  forest,  and  there  was 
scarce  a  tree  therein  but  he  could  have  told  you  the 
years'  growth.  He  had  thus  watched  the  barns  of  the 


16  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

distant  neighbors,  and  knew  just  when  the  hawk  had 
carried  off  the  hen,  or  the  sly  weasel  wound  its  way 
across  the  meadow.  He  stood  now,  apparently  look 
ing  at  nothing,  as  he  caught  sight  of  Edith,  alone 
in  the  carriage,  with  the  "grays;"  and,  ejaculating 
"  Blazers  !  "  took  the  path  down  to  the  mill,  like,  as 
it  gave  him  pride  afterwards  to  say,  a  streak,  and 
there,  pacing  up  and  down,  back  and  forth,  awaited 
her  nearer  approach. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  How  dared  ye  ?  Where 
are  the  rest  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  breath.  Edith  drew  in 
the  horses,  and  simply  told  the  story. 

"  Darn  him !  "  was  Ephraim's  laconic  answer.  It 
was  rarely  that  he  was  betrayed  into  any  other  ex 
pression  than  "  Blazers,"  and  Edith  seemed  a  little 
puzzled  as  to  whom  the  epithet  might  apply. 

"I'll  *-un  tell  em' to  hum.  Take  the  old  cart; 
deacon  will  drive  you,  and  we  '11  be  there  soon.  I  '11 
run." 

It  was  not  long  before  all  necessary  arrangements 
were  made,  and  William  saw  the  returning  aid,  just 
as  he  began  to  feel  a  little  uneasy  as  to  his  sister. 
They  raised  the  dead  body  tenderly  (even  Ephraim's 
rough  hand  was  light  in  its  touch)  into  the  cart,  lifted 
the  now  senseless  woman  in,  and  drove  on  to  the  farm. 

That  night  —  yes,  that  very  night,  with  the  body  of 
that  man  speaking  in  almost  living  words  from  the 
room  below,  William  took  his  accustomed  half-glass ! 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE   FUNERAL. 

IT  was  a  rare  assemblage  that  gathered  around 
Dea.  Lundley's  on  the  day  of  the  funeral.  The  inci 
dent,  heightened  by  the  additions  which  it  had  gained 
in  its  circuit  round  the  village,  had  filled  the  people 
with  curiosity,  and  they  poured  in  from  far  and  near. 
Early  in  the  morning  distant  farmers  had  started  with 
their  families  for  the  scene,  and  all  grades,  as  well  as 
all  ages  and  sexes,  were  in  the  yard  long  before  the 
hour  appointed  for  the  funeral  services.  Some  sat  in 
their  wagons ;  others  leaned  against  the  fence,  or  found 
themselves  a  resting-place  astride  the  logs,  or  on  the 
plough ;  and,  with  such  a  crowd  of  people,  arose  a  low 
din  of  voices,  which  could  not  be  subdued,  but  only 
softened,  by  the  presence  of  death.  There  were  some 
in  that  assembly  who  should  have  taken  warning 
thereby,  men  whose  bloated  countenances  and  rag 
ged  dress  betokened  signs  of  the  same  disease  by  which 
the  dead  man  fell.  But  they  went  in,  looked  on,  and 
passed  out  without  a  pang !  There  were  some  there, 
young  men,  whom  every  evening  found  at  that  same 
2* 


18  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

Giles  Standish's,  and  who  left  there  but  half  them- 
selves,  —  well-dressed,  well-behaved,  well-to-do  in  the 
world  they  were  now,  —  and  they,  too,  went  in,  looked 
on,  and  passed  out  without  a  pang !  Giles  Standish 
himself  was  there.  He  did  not  fear  to  go,  for  he 
knew  that  among  the  crowd  were  many  good  friends 
to  him,  and  it  was  no  time  for  the  deacon  or  parson  to 
preach  to  him ;  so  he,  too,  went  in,  looked  on,  and 
passed  out  without  a  pang  ! 

As  the  clock  from  the  kitchen  struck  one,  the  aged 
minister  was  seen  driving  slowly  up  the  lane.  Often 
times  —  ah,  how  often  !  —  had  he  been  present  where 
death  was.  Forty-five  years  had  done  their  work  in 
Durham,  as  well  as  elsewhere,  and  he  had  buried  the 
dead  from  sight ;  and  now  he  came  again  on  the  same 
errand,  but  not  to  one  of  his  flock.  Far,  far  away  o'er 
the  waste  of  waters,  lay  the  home  of  the  dead,  beauti 
ful  with  the  heather  and  bluebell. 

The  old  man  at  length  reached  the  door,  and,  alight 
ing  from  his  wagon,  entered  the  house  The  voices  in 
the  yard  were  stilled,  and  with  trembling  voice  the 
pastor  read  .the  words,  "  As  for  man,  his  days  are  as 
grass,  as  a  flower  of  the  field  so  he  flourished! :"  then 
followed  selection  after  selection,  solemn  and  impress 
ive,  and  a  powerful  appeal  to  the  living  to  beware  of 
that  which  had  sown  the  seeds  of  death  in  this  man. 

"  My  friends,"  he  concluded  by  saying,  "  there  shall 
be  no  such  thing  among  us  as  a  place  where  death  is 
sold,  —  death  to  the  body  and  death  to  the  soul. 
From  the  distant  home  of  this  stranger  there  comes 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  19 

a  voice  to  us,  — '  Turn  aside  ! '  from  the  broken  hearts 
of  mothers,  from  the  wretched  abodes  of  want,  there 
comes  a  voice  to  us,  — '  Away  with  this  curse  from  the 
land  ! '  Let  us  join  heart  and  hand  to  drive  it  out,  as 
one  of  the  plagues  of  Egypt.  Men  among  us  who 
sell  death  !  Men  who  live  on  widows'  sobs  and  or 
phans'  tears  !  Let  no  such  thing  be ! "  Then,  lowering 
his  voice,  and  pointing  with  his  withered  hand  to  the 
coffin,  he  said,  "  When  He  maketh  inquisition  for  blood, 
he  remember  eth  THEM  !  " 

Ere  the  close  of  this  appeal,  Giles  Standish  had  es 
caped  behind  the  barn,  and  as  the  funeral  procession 
moved  slowly  down  the  lane  he  could  be  seen  skulk 
ing  home  through  the  fields. 

After  the  body  had  been  deposited,  groups  of  men 
might  be  seen  within  the  grave-yard,  engaged  in  earnest 
conversation.  The  event  had  created  an  excitement 
in  the  village,  and  the  friends  of  temperance  now  ral 
lied,  and  conferred  together  as  to  the  best  mode  of 
procedure. 

"  Pass  the  liquor  bill,"  exclaimed  a  man  in  the 
largest  group.  "  The  liquor  bill,  —  can't  get  drunk  on 
that,  nohow." 

"  But  there  must  be  some  place  where  we  can  get 
it  in  case  of  sickness." 

"  Let  Parson  Dole  dole  it  out,  then." 

"  Two  licenses  will  be  enough.  We  must  have  two ; 
one  at  this  end  of  the  town,  and  one  at  the  other,  in 
case  of  sickness,  you  know,"  interrupted  the  same 
voice. 


'20  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  Jim,  you  'd  have  the  rheumatiz  twice  a  week, 
sure,"  ejaculated  a  third. 

"  The  liquor  bill,"  urged  the  first.  And  thus  they 
warred  with  words  until  the  setting  sun  warned  them 
to  separate. 

Giles  Standish  had,  in  the  mean  while,  reached  his 
home,  entered  his  store,  and  began  busying  himself  in 
preparations  for  his  customers,  of  whom  he  felt  sure 
he  should  have  many  more  than  usual.  He  took  down 
extra  tumblers,  washed  them,  and  arranged  them  on 
the  counter,  filled  to  the  very  brim  the  demijohns, 
and  seated  himself  to  watch  the  "coming  of  the 
prey ; "  and  ere  long  they  poured  in  to  his  heart's  con 
tent. 

"  Here,  another  glass,  old  one ;  I  '11  drink  a  health 
to  Parson  Dole  for  his  sermon  !  "  called  out  a  voice  in 
the  crowd,  and,  jostling  the  half-intoxicated  gang 
hither  and  thither,  the  man  made  his  way,  amid  shouts 
of  fiendish  laughter,  to  the  counter ;  then,  mounting 
on  the  top  of  a  hogshead,  he  delivered  a  eulogy  upon 
the  minister ! 

Who  would  have  thought,  to  have  looked  in  upon 
that  gathering  after  one  hour,  that  they  were  men  ? 
Some  sat  upon  the  counter,  with  their  heads  fallen 
upon  their  breasts,  in  a  heavy  sleep ;  some  sat  in 
chairs,  with  their  hats  slouched  over  their  eyes,  smok 
ing  ;  some  sat  leering  at  nothing,  with  an  idiotic  ex 
pression  of  face  ;  some  laughed  and  swore,  or  kicked 
their  feet  against  others  who  had  preferred  the  floor 
because  they  could  neither  sit  or  stand.  And  these 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  21 

were  human  beings  —  immortal  minds  I  Alas  for 
Giles  Standish,  if  the  Judge  call  him  now !  And 
this  is  not  the  worst  of  it ;  the  misery  of  it  shall  be 
when  the  morning  comes,  —  when  the  fumes  of  the 
first  draught  are  dissipated,  and  the  fireside  circle 
feels  the  reaction. 

Yet  this   was  in   Durham,  —  our  thrifty  farming 
village ! 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE   DEPARTURE. 

Two  weeks  had  passed  quietly  away,  save  this  ex 
citement  at  the  farm-house.  Mrs.  Corneille,  the 
Scotch  woman,  had  found,  for  the  present,  a  home  with 
Mrs.  Lundley,  She  seemed  a  neat,  orderly  person, 
and  Mrs.  Lundley  was  in  need  of  some  one  to  help 
her  during  the  summer,  as  Edith  would  go  to  the  city, 
and  her  dairy  was  large  and  harvesting  drawing  near. 
It  was  evident,  from  Mrs.  Corneille's  appearance,  that 
she  had  seen  far  different  times  from  these ;  and  there 
were  oftentimes  such  distinct  traces  of  the  lady  in  her 
deportment,  as  made  old  Ephraim  stand  in  consider 
able  awe  of  her. 

Edith  had  prepared  herself  carefully  for  her  change 
of  home.  William  had  given  her  a  present  of  a  nice 
black-silk  dress,  and  when  it  was  finished,  and  laid  in 
her  trunk,  she  felt  "made"  for  any  occasion.  Her 
wardrobe  was  extremely  tidy ;  yet,  withal,  it  had  a 
country  air.  It  would  have  gone  sorely  against  her 
pride  had  she  known  it,  but  it  was  only  one  of  the 
many  lessons  which  awaited  her  in  the  "  fairy  city." 

The  day  had  arrived  for  her  departure;  the  "grays  " 
were  again  at  the  door,  her  trunk  in,  and  nothing  re 
mained  to  be  said  but  the  good-by. 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  23 

"  Good-by,  grandmother,"  she  gayly  said,  as  she 
kissed  the  old  lady's  forehead.  "  I  am  going  to  try 
my  luck  now." 

"  It  is  only  with  William  I  would  trust  you,  you 
mad-cap !  "  replied  her  grandmother,  half  jestingly, 
half  in  earnest,  as  she  returned  her  kiss. 

"  And  now,  William,  take  good  care  of  her ;  she  is 
young  and  —  pretty,"  were  the  whispered  words  of 
his  mother,  as  she  kissed  him ;  and  they  were  off. 

Mrs.  Lundley  stood  leaning  on  her  husband's  shoul 
der,  at  the  door,  watching  them  as  they  drove  on,  and 
Ephraim  had  retreated  to  the  barn  window,  whither 
Mrs.  Corneille  followed  him. 

"  Blazers !  "  he  ejaculated,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

"  Na  sa  loud,  Ephraim,  na  sa  loud.  I  tell  ye  it 's 
a  sair  day  when  that  bonnie  bairn  left  her  ain  home. 
It 's  a  sair  day.  I  've  seen  as  fair  as  he  trusted  ere 
now,  and  —  can  ye  keep  a  secret,  Ephraim  ?  " 

Here  she  stopped,  and  Ephraim  began  to  feel  a  little 
uncomfortable.  He  had  heard  of  the  wiles  of  the 
widow,  and,  innocent  soul,  he  thought  he  was  in  for  it 
now.  So,  saying  to  himself,  "  Well,  if  't  is  to  be,  't  is 
to  be,  —  I'll  run,  —  Blazers!"  he  folded  his  arms 
across  his  breast,  and  replied, 

"  Guess  I  can  ;  if  it  an't  nothing  partic'ler." 

"  It  is  something  I  ken  about  Master  William." 

"  Master  William  !  "  exclaimed  Ephraim,  now  fear 
less  and  himself  again.  "  What  ?  " 


24  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  Yes ;  I  fear  for  the  lad,  and  it 's  na  sa  sure  I 
would  tell  them  of  it." 

"  Tell  them  what  ?  " 

"  No,  I  wonnot  tell  them,  but  I  tell  ye ;  that  lad 
is  not  to  be  trusted.  I  found  a  drop  of  something  like 
brandy  on  his  table,  y ester  morn.  I  knew  it  too  well. 
It  was  —  " 

"  Blazers  !  No.  I  gin  him  a  bowl  of  tea,  't  other 
evening.  'T  was  that;  so,  don't  distress  yourself.  La ! 
'twas  my  tea,"  and  Ephraim  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
idea  greatly. 

Mrs.  Corneille  could  hardly  be  persuaded  that  it  was 
so,  but  at  length  relinquished  her  fears  and  returned 
to  the  house.  Julia  had  cheerfully  aided  Edith  in  all 
her  preparations,  yet  not  without  a  secret  fear  in  her 
heart  for  the  issue.  Oftentimes  at  night,  when  Edith 
lay  sleeping  quietly  beside  her,  she  would  lie  watchful 
and  anxious  for  the  fair  sleeper.  Edith,  it  was  true, 
was  the  elder,  but  Julia's  close  and  constant  inter 
course  with  books  had  rapidly  developed  her  mind, 
and  she  was  years  her  senior  in  the  knowledge  of  men 
and  manners.  If  books  failed  her,  she  would  study 
the  characters  of  others  and  her  own  heart;  until, 
young  as  she  really  was,  she  had  formed  a  character 
of  which  many  would  have  been  proud.  She  knew 
many  of  the  trials  which  awaited  her  sister,  and  now 
that  she  had  really  gone,  she  had  retired  into  William's 
chamber,  and,  seating  herself  at  the  window,  wept 
long  and  bitterly.  She  had  hoped,  in  the  busy  hours 
which  come  to  every  household  in  the  morning,  to 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  25 

escape  notice.  It  was  so  usual  for  her  to  be  away 
with  her  book,  —  her  health  was  too  delicate  for  hard 
work,  —  that  she  was  right  in  her  hopes  as  to  all 
the  regular  inmates;  but  Mrs.  Corneille,  who  had 
taken  a  great  fancy  to  the  "  lily  ladie,"  as  she  called 
her,  missed  her,  and  went  in  search  for  her.  Julia 
did  not  hear  her  footstep  until  she  stood  by  her  side, 
and  therefore  could  not  escape. 

"  Dinna  ye  greet  so  sair.  Safer  is  the  birdie  in  its 
ain  nest  than  the  ane  who  flits  too  soon.  It  is  not 
I  that  wad  change  places  with  her." 

"  0,  it  is  not  for  that  I  weep,  Mrs.  Corneille !  My 
home  is  a  thousand  times  dearer  to  me  than  all  else ; 
it  is  not  for  that,  —  it  is  something  that  I  fear." 

"  Heaven  save  me !  ye  have  na  found  out  the  thing. 
Ephraim  says  it  was  na  brandy;  he  gave  Master 
William  the  tea, ! " 

In  an  instant  a  change  spread  over  the  features  of 
the  young  girl.  At  first  the  color  crimsoned  her  face 
and  neck,  and  then  a  deathly  paleness  settled  itself 
upon  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Corneille  ? "  she  at 
length  asked,  in  a  quiet  voice.  "  What  is  it  that  you 
mean  ?  " 

Mrs.  Corneille  saw  her  mistake;  she  knew  there 
was  no  use  in  evasion,  and  told  Julia  the  truth.  It 
was  evident  that  Julia's  fears  were  aroused  more  than 
ever.  She  was  accustomed  to  keep  her  heart  locked, 
and  therefore  Mr^.  Corneille  fancied  she  had  lulled 
her  doubts ;  but,  not  so ;  once  awakened  to  the  sus- 
3 


26  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

picion,  her  mind,  rendered  a  little  morbid  by  disease, 
dwelt  upon  it,  until  it  began  to  assume  an  almost  pal 
pable  existence,  and  her  anxieties  for  the  absent  were 
redoubled. 

That  evening,  as  the  bright  moon  threw  its  silvery 
rays  over  the  sleeping  Edith,  it  shone  upon  the  form 
of  a  young  and  pure-hearted  girl  kneeling  in  the  atti 
tude  of  prayer,  with  her  hands  clasped,  and  an  expres 
sion  of  trust  resting  upon  her  countenance. 

There  is  hope  in  that  prayer.  It  went  up  from 
the  depths  of  a  burdened  heart,  and  was  registered  in 
heaven. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE   FIRST   GLIMPSE   OF   THE   CITY. 

SAFE  and  prosperous  was  the  journey  to  the  city. 
Edith  was  charmed  with  all  she  saw ;  and,  as  she 
alighted  at  the  Globe  Hotel,  was  too  much  attracted 
by  the  novelty  of  the  scene  to  notice  the  many  gen 
tlemen  who  involuntarily  turned  to  gaze  as  she  passed 
up  the  steps.  She  was  quick  to  mark,  however,  on 
her  first  entrance  to  the  elegant  parlor,  the  rich  dresses 
of  the  ladies  within,  and  quick  to  compare  her  plain 
gingham  travelling-dress  with  theirs.  As  soon  as  she 
had  been  shown  to  her  room,  she  arranged  her  hair 
tastefully,  and  even  elegantly, —  a  native  elegance  which 
.  art  could  not  baffle,  —  dressed  herself  in  her  black  silk, 
adjusted  some  exquisite  rose-buds,  which  she  had 
gathered  in  the  morning,  in  the  place  of  the  elegant 
breast-pins  which  had  adorned  the  ladies  below,  and 
awaited  William's  coming. 

Ere  long  the  gong  sounded  for  dinner,  and  William 
was  well  pleased  to  see  Edith  thus  arrayed,  as  she 
answered  his  knock  at  the  door ;  and,  with  a  feeling  of 
pride,  he  offered  her  his  arm,  and  they  went  down  to 
the  hall.  As  they  passed  the  parlor  door,  a  young 


28  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

man  stepped  out,  giving  Lundley  a  warm  welcome 
and  gracefully  bowing  to  the  lady. 

"  My  sister,  Mr.  Dunlap,"  was  the  short  introduc 
tion,  and  the  party  reached  the  dining-room. 

It  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  that  Edit] 
found  Mr.  Dunlap  was  her  right-hand  neighbor.  Shi 
would  have  preferred  taking  her  dinner  in  silence 
allowed  to  observe  all  that  was  going  on  around  her 
but  Mr.  Dunlap  was  evidently  an  accomplished  talker 
and  she  felt  obliged  to  answer  him ;  yet,  withal,  sh 
answered  him  with  such  a  natural  dignity,  that  h< 
seemed  a  little  embarrassed,  and  once  or  twice  madi 
a  dead  pause. 

"  Dunlap  has  found  his  match  there,  I  take  it,  bj 
those  eyes,"  said  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  at  the  foo 
of  the  table,  to  a  friend  at  his  side. 

"  Jove  !  I  think  he  has,"  was  the  reply. 

"  He  will  drink  her  health  soon,"  said  a  third. 

"  That 's  his  last  resort,"  replied  a  fourth. 

c<  She  is  handsome,  though,  —  a  perfect  Diana  ! ' 
chimed  in  the  soft  voice  of  an  exquisite. 

"  Not  so  very,  Robert,"  replied  a  female  voice 
"  There  is  something  too  much  ti  la  countrie  in  he] 
manner;  is  there  not,  Mr.  Henley? " 

The  gentleman  thus  addressed  was  about  to  reply 
when  his  companion  gave  him  a  slight  touch,  and  i 
sign  to  notice  Mr.  Dunlap.  The  waiter  had  just  placec 
a  bottle  of  champagne  before  him. 

"Allow  me  the  pleasure,  Miss  Lundley;"  and  the 
waiter  poured  out  the  sparkling  wine. 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  29 

"  Excuse  me,  sir ;  I  never  take  wine  !  "  was  Edith's 
almost  indignant  reply. 

"  Bless  me,  no !  "  responded  Dunlap  ;  "  allow  me  to 
drink  her  health,  Mr.  Lundley." 

William  raised  the  glass  to  his  lips,  and  placed  it 
down  untasted.  Well  will  it  be  for  Edith  if  she  here 
after  has  the  moral  principle  to  do  that  which  now,  in 
her  ignorance,  she  did  without  a  struggle. 

The  group  at  the  end  of  the  table  were  highly  amused 
at  the  incident,  and  Dunlap  could  not  but  perceive  it ; 
however,  he  then  took  a  vow  that  she  yet  should  take 
wine  with  him  in  the  presence  of  these  witnesses,  and 
his  will  was  invincible.  After  dinner,  Edith,  weary 
with  her  ride  and  the  excitement,  retired  to  her  cham 
ber,  and  William  joined  his  companions  in  the  "  Read 
ing-room." 

He  was  always  welcome.  Possessed  of  the  finest 
natural  qualities  to  an  uncommon  degree,  he  had  not 
failed  to  make  many  friends.  His  prosperity  in  busi 
ness,  his  lavish  generosity,  his  kind  heart,  were  magnets 
which  attracted  the  young  men  towards  him  ;  and,  as 
he  entered  the  reading-room,  many  voices  welcomed 
him  at  once. 

"  Quiet  time  down  there,  hey  ?  "  simpered  the  ex 
quisite  Mr.  Diamond,  as  he  approached  the  table 
where  William  sat. 

"  0,  not  at  all;  home  is  home." 

"  Many  down  there  like  her  ? "  interrogated  Mr. 
Dunlap. 

3* 


30  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  She 's  a  beauty,  though,  '  a  dark  Castillian  maid,'  " 
sang  Mr.  Diamond. 

"  She  is  your  sister,  I  take  it,"  said  Mr.  Henley, 
looking  up  from  his  newspaper.  "  She  resembles  you 
so  much,  one  could  not  be  mistaken." 

"  Should  like  the  pleasure  of  her  acquaintance," 
replied  Mr.  Diamond. 

"  I  declare,"  interrupted  Mr.  Henley,  "  Madame 
Lavigne  has  arrived,  and  gives  her  first  concert  day 
after  to-morrow  evening  !  " 

Such  news  changed  the  topic  of  conversation ;  and 
gradually  one  by  one  settled  themselves  to  their  read 
ing  or  cigar,  or  went  out  to  their  business. 

William  was  seated  next  to  Mr.  Henley,  and  was 
reading  an  article  with  much  interest,  when  Mr.  Henley 
gave  him  a  slight  touch,  and  spoke  to  him  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  There  has  been  the  very  deuce  to  play  with  Dunlap 
since  you  have  been  gone.  Do  not  trust  your  sister 
with  him  often." 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times,  sir  !  "  replied  Wil 
liam.  "  I  need  not  inquire  why,  for  I  have  learned 
to  respect  Mr.  Henley's  opinion.  I  will  be  watchful ;  " 
and  they  both  returned  to  their  reading. 

As  William  rose  to  leave  the  room,  Dunlap  ap 
proached,  and  begged  him  to  present  his  compliments 
to  his  sister,  and  "  allow  him  the  pleasure  of  her  com 
pany  to  the  concert." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  William,  "  I  must  retain  that 
privilege  myself,"  and  with  a  bow  withdrew.  As 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  31 

Dunlap  retreated  to  the  window,  he  cast  a  searching 
glance  at  Mr.  Henley,  who  was  just  then  intent  on 
the  sale  of  stock. 

In  the  evening  Edith  took  her  seat  in  one  of  the 
parlor  windows,  half  concealing  her  form  by  the  rich 
drapery  of  the  damask  curtains.  She  wished  to  remaim 
unnoticed,  and  be  allowed  to  look  on  in  silence.  She 
had  told  William  to  leave  her  there,  and  go  himself 
to  converse  with  his  friends,  cautioning  him  not  to 
introduce  her  to  any  one  that  evening.  She  enjoyed 
it  highly.  The  polished  manners  of  the  gentlemen 
pleased  her,  and  the  easy  grace  of  the  ladies  delighted 
her.  Wit,  beauty  and  intelligence,  were  there.  She 
seemed  almost  lost  in  a  world  of  wonder,  and  at  last 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  William  must  be  love- 
proof,  to  have  withstood  such  charms  as  every  lady 
there  possessed  in  her  eyes.  She  was  particularly 
pleased  with  Miss  Bellmont,  a  young  lady  whose  com 
plexion  was  a  perfect  blonde,  whose  ivory  teeth  glis 
tened  at  every  word  she  spoke,  and  who  had  a  roguish 
smile,  which  she  knew  remarkably  well  how  to  use, 
perpetually  flitting  around  her  mouth.  Edith  was  not 
surprised  to  see  Mr.  Dunlap  dancing  attention  upon 
her  ;  her  only  surprise  was  that  William  seemed  studi 
ously  to  avoid  her.  At  length  she  heard  Mr.  Dun- 
lap's  voice. 

"  She  sits  there  from  choice,  I  believe,  this  evening ; 
I  was  making  my  way  towards  her,  when  Mr.  Lundley 
laid  an  embargo  on  my  movements,  saying  that  his 
bister  was  too  weary  for  conversation." 


32  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"Mr.  Lundley  is  a  "  The  word  was  lost  to 

Edith,  but  the  expression  of  the  face  dwelt  long  in 
her  memory. 

It  was  with  wonder  that  she  watched  the  movements 
of  a  party  at  a  game  of  whist.  She  had  never  seen 
a  pack  of  cards  before ;  and,  as  the  company  drew  up 
to  the  table,  she  shuddered.  Cards !  the  very  name 
brought  up  the  image  of  her  home  to  her,  and  she  fell 
that  even  in  looking  on  she  sinned.  "  Cards,"  old 
Parson  Dole  had  told  her,  "  were  the  bridesmaids  of 
wine  and  death,"  and  she  turned  away  from  the  group 
for  an  instant ;  but  something  fascinated  her,  and  she 
gazed  and  wondered  until  the  game  was  ended.  Then 
Mr.  Dunlap  rose,  touched  the  bell,  and  a  waiter  entered 
with  a  salver  of  cake  and  wine.  The  ladies  were  all 
helped ;  some  emptied  the  glass,  others  took  half,  others 
just  touched  it  to  their  lips.  Even  William,  —  ah,  how 
Edith  sprang !  —  he  poured  out  a  glass  even  to  the  brinij 
and  set  it  down  empty. 

This  was  her  first  evening  in  the  city.  How  much 
had  the  cards  and  the  wine  elevated  the  refined  group  1 
and  how  laden  went  up  the  golden  hours  with  their 
record  ? 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   DISCOVERY. 

EDITH'S  letters  home  were  written  in  the  finest 
spirits,  and  the  warmest  praises  of  her  brother  filled 
every  page.  She  spoke  of  him  as  attending  to  her 
every  wish,  as  anticipating  her  slightest  need.  She 
wrote  of  his  polished  manners  and  prosperous  busi 
ness  ;  she  intimated  that  the  admiring  ladies  were  too 
well  pleased ;  and  she  introduced,  for  the  entertain 
ment  of  old  grandmother,  the  little  incident  of  the 
morning,  in  which  William  had  met,  in  one  of  the  most 
public  streets,  a  little  girl,  toiling  and  trudging  on 
with  a  heavy  basket  of  pieces  of  wood  and  shavings, 
and  had  taken  it  out  of  her  hands,  carrying  it  on  for 
her  as  far  as  he  went. 

"  0,  Julia,"  she  concluded  her  letter  by  writing, 
"  you  have  no  idea  what  a  noble  brother  our  own  Wil 
liam  is.  He  lays  up,  annually,  a  small  fund  for 
mother,  and  our  old  age.  His  friends  worship  him ; 
and  well  they  may  !  "  Edith  did  not  write  how  she 
was  gradually  becoming  as  polished  and  as  much  a 
favorite  as  he.  She  did  not  allude  to  Mr.  Dunlap's 
marked  attentions,  for  she  despised  them  so  much  in 
her  heart  that  she  could  not  speak  of  them. 


34  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

It  was  only  because  she  was  forced  to  do  it,  that  one 
afternoon  she  spoke  to  William  about  it. 

"  William,"  said  she,  laughing  in  spite  of  the  tem 
per  that  flashed  from  her  eyes,  "  where  do  you  sup 
pose  Mr.  Dunlap  wishes  me  to  accompany  him,  this 
evening  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  William.    "  Dunlap  —  who  is  he  ? " 

"  Why,"  replied  Edith,  laughing  merrily  at  Wil 
liam's  feigned  ignorance,  "Mr.  Fitzgerald  Dunlap, 
of  course,  —  the  greatest  beau  of  the  season." 

"  Dunlap,"  repeated  William,  "  who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Do  not  try  me  now,  brother ;  I  really  am  in  a  lit 
tle  doubt.  I  do  not  feel  like  sport.  Shall  I  go  ?" 

"  Go  where  ?  Dunlap  —  who  is  he  ? "  inquired 
William,  again. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  Edith  in  an  instant.  Wil 
liam  had  taken  too  much  wine.  It  did  not  seem  to 
shock  her  as  it  once  would  have  done.  She  had  not 
spent  six  weeks  in  the  midst  of  the  flowing  wine,  ig 
norant  of  its  taste  or  of  its  effects ;  and  she  now,  though 
a  little  startled,  was  not  repelled. 

"Lie  down  there  on  the  sofa,  —  come;"  and  she 
placed  her  hand  under  his  arm,  and  led  him  as  a  child. 

The  strong  man  was  bowed,  and  allowed  himself  to 
be  thus  dealt  with,  and  in  a  few  moments  fell  asleep. 
Not  that  quiet,  refreshing  sleep  with  which  nature 
blesses  the  temperate,  but  a  heavy,  log-like  sleep,  that 
seemed  almost  like  death.  As  she  sat  thus  watching 
him,  a  knock  at  the  door  caused  her  to  start.  It 
was  only  the  servant  with  a  card  of  the  gentleman 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  35 

who  waited  for  her  in  the  parlor.  She  simply  excused 
herself,  closed  the  door,  and  returned  to  the  sofa.  It 
was  quiet  in  the  room  —  a  fit  time  for  the  slumbering 
heart  to  arouse  to  its  work :  and  it  did  awaken. 

She  felt  almost  degraded  that  she  was  compelled  to 
close  the  door  on  a  servant,  in  order  to  conceal  the 
condition  of  her  brother.  She  felt  that  for  that  hour 
he  was  more  of  a  man  than  the  unconscious  sleeper 
beside,  her.  "  It  is  no  place  for  William,  here,"  she 
thought;  "there  are  too  many  temptations.  1  will 
persuade  him  to  take  a  house,  and  then  I  can  control 
the  wine.  I  will  give  him,  for  a  reason,  Mr.  Dunlap's 
disagreeable  attentions,  and  I  shall  soon  win  him  to  my 
opinion.  What  would  Julia  think  of  me  now  ?  I 
will  not  write  her  of  it,  though ;  it  will  be  of  no  use, 
for  as  soon  as  he  has  a  home  of  his  own  he  will  be  a 
new  man." 

After  a  two  hours'  sleep,  William  awoke,  just  as  a 
second  knock  at  the  door  started  Edith  from  her  revery. 
She  rose  to  open  it. 

"  A  note  for  Mr.  Lundley,  ma'am ;  I  wait  for  an 
answer." 

William,  now  himself  again,  opened  the  note,  read 
it,  and,  writing  an  answer,  handed  it  to  the  servant. 

It  was  an  invitation  to  Dunlap's  rooms  for  the  eve 
ning.  "  I  suppose  I  must  go.  He  always  does  well 
by  us.  So,  Dithie  dear,  you  go  to  sleep,  and  I  will 
go ;  the  "  Fellows  of  the  United  Corps  "  is  what  we 
call  ourselves." 


36  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  William ! "  said  Edith,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  —  but  he  was  gone. 

Fitzgerald  Dunlap  was  a  young  man  of  fortune  and 
of  taste.  Having  travelled  on  the  continent,  seeing 
everything  there  was  to  be  seen,  and  hearing  every 
thing  there  was  to  be  heard,  he  had  returned  to  his 
own  country  with  a  desire  to  gather  around  him  as 
many  as  possible  of  the  works  of  art  and  elegance ; 
and  on  this  model  his  rooms  were  arranged.  Pictures 
of  the  rarest  beauty  were  suspended  lavishly  from  the 
walls;  madonnas  and  angel  figures  seemed  to  float 
around;  marble  statues  of  elegant  structure  stood 
half  concealed  in  deep  recesses,  or,  in  full  sight,  held 
lighted  candles  to  illuminate  the  room ;  the  flowers  on 
the  tapestried  carpets  seemed  almost  instinct  with  life, 
vying  in  beauty  with  the  camellias  and  roses  which 
were  blooming  in  the  lava  vases  on  the  mantel-shelf. 
The  library,  which  led  out  from  the  parlor,  was  well 
filled  with  the  choicest  volumes,  and  showed  the  same 
unquestionable  taste  as  the  larger  room.  In  the  cen 
tre  of  this  room  stood  a  table,  arranged  with  the  ut 
most  elegance,  literally  groaning  under  its  weight  of 
fruit  and  flowers.  Silver  salvers  at  each  corner  stood 
laden  with  glasses,  and  cut-glass  decanters  filled  with 
wine  and  brandy. 

Mr.  Dunlap  was  waiting  for  his  guests. 

He  sat,  or  rather  half-reclined,  on  the  sofa,  pretend 
ing  to  read  a  poem,  when  the  servant  opened  the  door 
and  announced  the  visitors.  Among  them  William 
observed  all  the  hotel  acquaintances,  excepting  Mr. 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  87 

Henley.    It  was  evident  that  he  and  Dunlap  had  parted 
company. 

It  was  with  almost  a  womanly  tact  that  Dunlap  di 
rected  the  entertainment  of  his  guests,  and  it  was  not 
until  the  city  bell  struck  eleven  that  the  doors  of  the 
library-room  were  thrown  open,  and  they  entered  for 
refreshment. 

It  was  a  far  different  place  from  Giles  Standish's 
"  rum-house,"  in  Durham  woods ;  yet  human  nature  was 
the  same  here  as  there.  The  richest,  most  expensive, 
most  sparkling  wine  bore  death  in  its  cup,  as  well  as 
the  tumbler  of  unrefined  gin.  It  was  only  walking  over 
the  rose-bed  under  whose  crimson  leaves  the  serpent 
lay  hidden.  There  was  not  the  slouched  hat,  or  the 
ragged  coat,  in  that  elegant  room ;  but  there  were  the 
same  sneers  and  oaths,  the  same  lurid  glare  of  the  eye, 
the  same  idiotic  leer.  They  were  none  the  more,  none 
the  less,  men. 

Edith  could  not  rest  after  "William  left  the  room. 
A  vague  feeling  of  danger  seemed  to  steal  over  her ; 
danger,  she  knew  not  from  whence  or  where.  She  felt 
unsettled  and  disquieted.  She  took  down  from  her 
closet  one  of  her  dresses,  and  endeavored  to  arrange 
the  trimmings  with  a  city  finish.  "  The  everlasting 
black  silk,"  as  she  heard  Miss  Bellmont  call  it,  as 
she  passed  her,  began  to  be  wearisome  to  her.  She 
had  naturally  a  fine  taste,  and  all  her  spare  time  had 
been  employed  for  the  last  week  upon  the  dress,  which 
now  needed  but  a  few  stitches  to  finish,  and  she  sat 
down  to  put  them  in. 
4 


38  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

A  knock  at  the  door  startled  her.  It  was  not 
John's  knock ;  she  knew  too  well  the  peculiar  rattle 
of  his  fingers  to  mistake,  and  with  a  quick  motion  she 
answered  the  call. 

"  Let  me  in  quickly,"  said  a  low,  female  voice ;  "  let 
me  in  quickly :  I  cannot  stand  here  long.  I  have  a 
note  from  Mr.  Henley  to  you,  ma'am,  which  no  one 
else  can  leave  but  me,  and  I  must  place  it  in  your 
hands,"  she  added,  as  Edith  closed  the  door  after  her. 

"Sit  down  on  the  sofa  and  rest;  you  seem  very 
weary,  and  are  so  pale ! "  exclaimed  Edith,  as  the  light 
from  the  gas  rested  full  upon  the  young  girl's  face. 
The  visitor  obeyed,  mechanically  (evidently  waiting  for 
the  answer  to  the  note  which  Edith  opened),  the  pale 
ness  of  her  face  growing  more  and  more  apparent  as 
Edith  read  on. 

"  Mr.  Henley  is  a  friend  of  yours,  then  ?  " 

"  Such  a  friend  as  I  need  and  am  thankful  for,"  was 
the  short  reply. 

"  He  says  I  can  trust  you  with  my  message.  Tell 
him  that  a  country  bird  is  too  wary  for  that  net,  and 
I  will  see  to  it  to-morrow." 

"Do  not  fail  —  to-morrow!  "  exclaimed  the  young 
girl,  vehemently,  as  she  left  the  room.  "  Alas !  for 
me  there  is  no  to-morrow  !  "  and  she  vanished  up  the 
long  hall  like  an  apparition.  Whither  she  went  Edith 
could  not  tell,  but  she  thought  she  perceived  a  figure 
like  hers  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  gentleman  who 
seemed  like  Mr.  Henley,  as  the  street-light  fell  upon 
his  face  as  he  turned  the  corner. 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  39 

Edith  was  too  much  excited  to  sleep,  and  she  re 
mained  sitting  at  the  window  until  she  saw  the  same 
gentleman  return  alone,  and  directly  after  heard  the 
noise  of  footsteps  in  the  entry.  They  seemed  to  be 
many.  Presently  she  heard  a  voice, 

"  Softly,  John,  softly  by  Miss  Lundley's  door !  I 
would  not  have  her  waken.  We  must  get  him  to  his 
room  quietly,  and  I  will  watch  him  the  rest  of  the 
night." 

"  Softly,  hush  !  "  said  the  same  voice  again ;  "once 
by  here,  we  shall  be  safe." 

Edith's  heart  sank  within  her,  and  as,  by  the  sound 
of  the  retreating  footsteps,  she  knew  the  party  to  have 
passed  her  door,  she  gently  opened  it  and  looked  out. 
Mr.  Henley  and  John  were  carrying  William  to  his 
room.  He  was,  as  Mr.  Diamond  gracefully  whispered 
in  Miss  Bellmont's  ear  the  next  morning,  "  genteelly 
tipsy."  One  view  was  enough.  She  determined  from 
that  hour  that  a  -change  must  be  made  soon.  How 
strangely  she  felt !  Her  lips  turned  pale,  her  color  fled. 
What  could  she  do  ?  Alas  for  Mr.  Dunlap !  he  had 
won  her  over,  at  least  so  far  as  to  dispel  her  scruples 
against  "  light  wine."  She  took  it  now  for  a  medicine 
—  to  cure  an  aching  heart ! 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE   NEW   HOME. 

THREE  weeks  after  the  events  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter,  Edith  was  in  her  new  home, — a  fine,  well-fur 
nished  house  in  Blond-street.  William  had  spared 
neither  time  or  expense  in  this  settlement,  and  every 
thing  bore  marks  of  true  generosity.  Of  this  change 
and  all  its  interesting  "minutiae"  she  duly  informed 
Julia  and  the  friends  at  home.  She  wrote  in  apparent 
good  spirits.  By  any  eye  but  one  so  quick  to  detect 
the  slightest  change  as  Julia's,  a  secret  vein  of  sad 
ness,  or  rather  of  anxiety,  would  not  have  been  per 
ceived;  but  she  saw  it, —  at  least,  she  thought  so, — 
and  she  wrote  back  a  letter  of  inquiry.  Edith's 
answer  relieved  her,  and  she  went  through  her  usual 
duties  with  a  lighter  heart  than  for  many  days. 

Mr.  Dunlap  was  an  almost  incessant  visitor  at  the 
new  home, — in  truth,  the  hotel  acquaintance  were 
none  of  them  backward  in  keeping  up  the  pleasant 
intercourse  which  had  been  commenced,  and  evenings 
were  seldom  spent  alone  at  No.  22. 

"  Dithie,"  said  William,  one  evening,  to  her,  "  our 
friends  do  not  forsake  us,  do  they  ?  " 

"  Not  they,"  replied  Edith,  looking  up  from  her 
work,  and  smiling.  "  Home  has  too  many  comforts." 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  41 

"Dunlap  and  Diamond  say  my  house  is  perfect  in  all 
but  one  thing,"  continued  William. 

"  What  is  that  ?— a  wife  ? "  inquired  Edith. 

"  A  wife !  —  no,  indeed ;  time  enough  for  that  when," 
—  he  cast  a  roguish  glance  towards  his  sister,  who  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it. 

"  What,  then  ?  "  she  inquired  again. 

"  You  see  my  sideboard  is  empty,  do  you  not  ? " 

"  O,  that  is  it,  is  it  ? "  said  Edith,  dropping  her 
work. 

"  Yes,  that 's  all ;  and  Dunlap  has  just  sent  me  in  a 
present  of  two  superb  decanters,  in  massive  silver 
holders,  —  an  elegant  sideboard  ornament." 

"  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  In  my  room.  I  thought  I  would  see  how  the  thing 
pleased  you.  It  is  not  customary,  in  this  our  city  cir 
cle,  to  receive  so  many  calls  without  wine  being  offered, 
and  I  wish  to  do  it." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  its  standing  there,  William, 
but  I  really  do  not  like  to  have  you  receive  this  pres 
ent  from  Dunlap.  He  has  some  concealed  motive,  has 
not  he  ?  "  and  she  raised  her  arched  eyebrows  signifi 
cantly. 

"  His  motives  are  his  own,"  laughed  William.  "  I 
have  no  business  with  those,  as  long  as  the  tower 
stands  firm.  I  like  the  present." 

At  this  moment  the  bell  rang. 

"I  believe  that  is  he,  now,"  exclaimed  William. 
"  Stop  a  moment,  Susan,"  he  called  to  the  servant  who 
was  answering  the  bell.  . "  Come  here  and  help  Miss 
3* 


42  DURHAM   VILLAGE. 

Lundley  a  while,  first ; "  and  he  hastened  to  bring  the 
glasses  for  the  sideboard. 

"  So  much  for  custom."  thought  Edith,  as  she  turned 
from  the  wine,  and  seated  herself  on  the  sofa.  "  I 
will  never  offer  it  myself;  it  may  stand  there,  and 
William  may  do  as  he  pleases." 

The  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Dunlap  was  announced. 
Edith  received  her  guest  civilly,  but  with  a  cold  grace. 
Her  very  "  hauteur  "  was  charming  to  the  gentleman. 
He  had  boasted  of  it  again  and  again,  as  "  the  most 
admirable  coolness."  "  It  does  one  good  to  meet  it," 
he  remarked  to  a  friend.  "  There  is  some  honor  in 
gaining  a  heart  so  cased  in,  —  something  worth  the 
trouble.  I  am  not  in  the  least  baffled  by  it."  This 
would  appear  true,  for  he  now  considered  himself 
doubly  welcome  to  all,  and  seated  himself  in  the  rock 
ing-chair,  very  much  at  home. 

He  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  Italy  that  eve 
ning,  and,  for  the  first  time  since  Edith  had  met  him, 
she  was  entertained.  The  descriptions  were  new  to 
her,  and  there  was  something  in  the  brilliant  manner 
of  his  relating  them  that  found  a  lodgment  in  her 
fancy.  Italy  was  a  land  unknown  to  her.  In  the 
quiet  of  her  home  she  had  never  realized  the  existence 
of  such  a  country,  except  as  such  a  place  in  her 
child's  geography ;  and  now  it  seemed  to  her  a  new 
world,  filled  with  all  that  could  attract  and  please  the 
imagination. 

"  Mr.  Lundley,  a  gentleman  waits  for  you  in  the 
hall,"  said  Susan,  as  she  opened  the  door  of  the  parlor, 


DURHAM   VILLAGE.  43 

about  an  hour  after  Dunlap's  arrival.  William  followed 
her  out,  and  soon  after  returned  to  excuse  himself,  as 
he  was  obliged  to  go  out  and  settle  some  business  which 
he  could  not  defer.  Edith  gave  him  an  entreating 
glance,  not  unnoticed  by  Dunlap,  and  for  the  first  time 
she  found  herself  alone  with  him. 

"  Are  you  much  interested  in  the  mosaic-work  of 
the  Italians  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Dunlap,  as  William  closed 
the  door. 

"  I  really  know  nothing  of  it." 

"  If  I  had  thought  of  it,  I  would  have  brought 
some  specimens  in  with  me.  I  have  some  very  fine 
ones  from  the  continent,"  he  continued.  "  By  the 
way,  here  is  a  small  specimen  in  this  ring  which  I 
have,"  and,  drawing  a  massive  ring  from  his  finger,  he 
handed  it  to  her,  rising  and  seating  himself  upon  the 
sofa  by  her.  ^  You  see  each  one  of  these  is  a  sep 
arate  piece." 

Edith  took  the  ring  and  examined  it,  then  handed  it 
back,  saying  it  was  "  very  beautiful,  and  he  must  value 
it  exceedingly." 

"  I  value  it  because  there  is  a  strange  story  con 
nected  with  it.     Quite  romantic,  Miss  Lundley,  I  car 
assure  you.     I  had  two  of  them  once ;  one  was  small 
very  small,  even  small  enough  for  a  lady's  finger,  — 
and  it  disappeared." 

"  You  will  find  it  again,  I  trust." 

"  May  be  I  shall,"  he  continued,  indifferently. 

"  0, 1  hope  you  will." 


44  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  If  I  had  it  here  now,  —  years  have  gone  since 
then,  —  I  would  add  it  to  your  curiosities." 

"  It  is  well  that  you  have  not;  I  never  receive  pres 
ents,  for  I  never  give  them." 

"You  exchange,  then,"  he  said,  looking  up  in  her 
face  with  a  sinister  expression  which  she  did  not  like. 

"  I  make  no  exchanges,"  was  her  laconic  answer. 

"  It  is  but  fair  play,"  he  added,  taking  up  her  hand, 
which  lay  upon  the  cushion.  "Here  is  the  duplicate; 
allow  me  to  place  it  here; "  and  he  was  about  slipping 
it  upon  her  finger. 

She  threw  it  from  her  as  though  its  beauty  were 
nothing,  and,  with  her  dark  eye  flashing  with  temper, 
she  said, 

"  I  take  no  gifts,  sir !  You  will  learn  that  soon." 

He  did  not  seem  to  heed  the  temper  at  all,  but, 
stooping  down,  took  the  ring  up,  snapped  the  set 
ting  asunder  as  though  it  had  been  glass,  and  laid  the 
fragments  on  the  sofa. 

Edith  would  not  be  amused  during  the  remainder 
of  the  evening ;  she  would"  not  converse  much ;  she 
would  not  offer  wine,  to  take  the  place  of  conversation. 
In  fine,  Mr.  Dunlap  was  fairly  obliged  to  make  good 
his  retreat,  which  he  did  with  as  much  ease  and  grace 
as  he  had  entered  the  parlor. 

Stepping  out  into  the  street,  he  gave  vent  to  his 
pent-up  feelings  in  an  oath,  and  then  quickened  his 
pace  towards  his  rooms.  As  he  turned  the  corner  of 
a  street,  a  light  female  figure  emerged  from  a  dark 
corner  formed  by  the  shadow  of  a  neighboring  church, 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  4t) 

and  followed  in  his  track.  When  he  walked  slowly,  she 
slackened  her  pace ;  when  he  walked  fast,  she  walked 
fast  also.  At  last,  when  he  had  reached  a  quiet  alley, 
he  stopped  and  turned  round.  The  figure  stopped. 

"  Come  on,  if  you  will"  he  exclaimed,  in  suppressed 
wrath. 

The  figure  stood  still. 

"Come  on,  if  you  dare!  "  he  added,  and  walked  on. 

She  followed  without  a  word,  close  on,  and  left  him 
only  when  he  gained  the  entrance  to  his  rooms.  Then 
she  turned  slowly  away,  and  wound  her  way  back 
among  lanes  and  alleys,  until  she  reached  the  banks 
of  the  river  which  flowed  around  the  outskirts  of  the 
city.  Here  she  seated  herself  upon  the  banks,  and 
gazed  into  the  deep,  dark  waters.  They  rolled  slug 
gishly  on  —  dark  —  deep.  There,  under  there,  there 
would  be  rest.  She  bent  forward,  placed  her  foot  on 
a  plank  which  led  out  into  the  stream,  and  gazed ;  — 
deep,  dark  and  still!  Could  she  not  rest  there?  — 
dark  and  still !  She  shrank  back  again  to  the  shore, 
exclaiming,  in  an  agonized  voice,  "  Alas  !  for  me  there 
is  no  to-morrow !  Why  can  I  not  rest  ?  "  Deep,  dark 
and  still !  She  bent  over  again,  but  there  was  some 
thing  that  drew  her  back  to  life,  and  she  was  soon  lost 
in  the  low  lanes  which  led  from  the  stream. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE  PARSON'S  COMMISSION. 

PARSON  DOLE  trotted  his  horse  briskly  towards  the 
farm-house.  The  animal  broke  from  his  accustomed 
jig-jog  into  a  good  round  trot  as  he  turned  into  the 
lane,  fore-knowing  the  peck  of  oats  which  stood  ready 
jn  the  stall,  and  whinneyed  with  great  delight  as 
Ephraim  appeared  on  the  steps. 

"Dobbin  knows  me  by  this  time,  I  guess.  That's 
a  sensible  horse  of  yourn,  parson,"  he  said,  with  a 
broad  smile  on  his  good-natured  face.  "  Come,  we  '11 
go,"  he  added,  to  the  horse,  as  he  took  him  by  the  bits 
and  led  him  towards  the  barn.  "  Walk  in,  sir,"  he 
continued,  addressing  the  minister.  ."  Grandma'am  's 
there,  —  smart  as  a  cricket." 

"  Ephraim  ? "  called  the  minister. 

Ephraim  stopped. 

"  Ephraim,  you  will  come  in,  will  you,  after  you 
have  put  Dobbin  up  ?  I  want  to  speak  with  you." 

"  Guess  I  will,"  replied  Ephraim,  adding  to  him 
self,  "  Can't  think  of  nothing  I  've  done  wrong,  nohow, 
unless  'twas  giving  Mrs.  Corneille  my  help  home 
t'  other  night,  when  't  was  black  as  thunder.  Blazers ! " 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  47 

And  when  he  returned  to  the  house  he  was  in  a  state 
of  great  excitement. 

The  whole  family  were  in  waiting  for  him,  and 
when  he  entered  Julia  could  not  help  smiling  at  the 
evident  discomposure  of  his  thoughts. 

"  Sit  down,  my  good  man,"  said  the  minister.  "  1 
have  something  for  you  to  do,  if  you  will.  I  am  truly 
alarmed  at  the  state  of  our  people  as  regards  intem 
perance,  and  I  have  come  to  see  what  can  be  done. 
Giles  Standish  is  doing  a  heavy  business,  and  has 
more  than  one  stand  for  liquor  here. 

"  More  than  one  !  "  ejaculated  Ephraim,  now  quite 
recovered  from  his  embarrassment.  "An't  you  mis 
taken  ? " 

"  I  wish  I  was  ;  but  I  have  been  riding  around  the 
parish,  chiefly  on  this  errand,  and  have  been  surprised 
indeed.  I  was  riding  through  Fan  District,  yesterday, 
and  saw  a  small  house  in  the  woods.  I  stopped,  and 
entered.  A  woman  came  quickly  out  of  a  back  room, 
lifting  her  finger  significantly  to  some  person  who  re 
mained  within.  I  heard  distinctly  the  setting  away 
of  glasses,  and  perceived  the  odor  of  rum.  I  de 
termined  to  sit  there  for  a  while,  and  so  commenced 
conversation  with  her.  She  was  respectful,  evidently 
knowing  who  I  was,  but  all  the  while  uneasy,  and  look 
ing  out  of  the  window  anxiously.  One  by  one,  sev 
eral  men  happened  in ;  one  came  one  way,  another  a 
different  path,  but  each  came  with  a  bottle,  which  I 
could  see  them  place  in  their  pockets  as  they  came  ID 


48  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

sight  of  my  carriage.  All  made  some  excuse  on  enter 
ing. 

"  *  Husband  at  home,  Miss  Darney  ?  I  want  to  see 
him ;  he  is  in  the  back  room,  may  be ; '  and  the  speaker 
disappeared. 

" '  Jimmy  Hodges  came  this  way,  did  n't  he  ? 
Guess  I  '11  go  and  look,'  said  another. 

"  *  AVant  t»  get  some  molasses,'  said  a  third,  who 
had  too  large  a  demijohn  to  conceal. 

"  Last  of  all  appeared  Giles  Standish  himself,  in  a 
light  wagon.  He  saw  my  horse,  and  drove  slowly  up 
the  road.  Then  I  rose,  bade  the  woman  '  good-by,' 
and  left  the  house,  following  Giles  along  the  road.  He 
drove  on  for  some  distance,  and  then  turned  for. me  to 
pass. 

"  *  I  am  not  in  any  hurry,  at  all,'  I  said.  '  Dob 
bin  is  used  to  a  slow  trot,  and  it  is  rather  a  warm 
day.' 

"He  was  very  much  disconcerted,  but  could  not 
avoid  driving  on ;  but  he  started  at  a  good  pace,  —  too 
fast  for  his  luggage,  for,  coming  suddenly  on  a  rock, 
there  was  a  crash,  and  a  flood  of  liquor  poured  from 
the  sides  of  the  wagon. 

" '  No  loss  at  all,  my  friend,'  I"  exclaimed,  as  I 
gained  his  side.  '  I  take  it  it  was  only  a  recruit  for 
that  rum-hole  yonder.  Better  be  on  the  earth,  and  let 
her  drink  it  in.  Giles  Standish,  these  things  shall  not 
be  !  '  and  I  drove  on." 

"  That  sarved  him  right,"  said  Deacon  Lundlcy,  with 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  49 

a  smile ;  and  Ephraim  rubbed  his  hands  in  evident 
delight. 

"  This  is  but  one  instance,  though,"  continued  Mr. 
Dole.  "  I  found  in  that  very  district,  among  some  of 
my  regular  attendants  at  church,  men  who  took  liquor ; 
not  enough  to  make  them  sots,  but  enough  to  make 
them  irritable  and  tyrannical.  Wherever  I  saw 
broken-down  hedges,  falling  fences,  half-mended  cart 
wheels,  old  hay-carts  and  sleighs  before  the  door,  there 
I  found  rum  had  been  at  work,  —  places  where  I  had 
not  the  least  suspicion  of  the  thing,  in  some  well-or 
dered  houses,  too  ;  and  never  have  I  found  one  who  was 
not  ashamed  to  own  it,  or  would  not  have  concealed  it 
if  he  could.  Now,  something  must  be  done  before 
our  town-meeting,  when  the  question  of  the  license-law 
will  be  decided.  I  want  my  friend  Ephraim  to  hunt 
out  and  bring  a  statement  of  as  many  cases  of  drink 
ing  as  he  can  find.  These  will  help  us  to  the  attain 
ment  of  our  object." 

"  It  takes  a  rogue  to  catch  a  rogue ;  I  '11  do  it,  " 
replied  Ephraim. 

"  As  to  Miss  Julia,  I  have  found  something  for  her 
to  do,"  said  Mr.  Dole.  "  She  must  go  in  among  the 
young  girls  of  our  parish,  and  persuade  them  to  sign 
a  paper  that  they  will  not  marry  a  man  in  the  town, 
1  be  he  rich,  or  be  he  poor,'  who  takes  any  alcoholic 
drink." 

"  That  I  am  willing  to  do,"  she  replied. 

"  It  will  fix  some  on  'em,"  replied  Ephraim. 

"  And  as  to  Deacon  Lundley,"  continued  the  minister, 
5 


50  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  he  must  help  us  every  way,  and  we  will  carry  the 
day.  I  cannot  see  my  parish  in  this  state.  I  dare 
not  go  up  to  my  account  thus.  I  must  and  will  work 
to  the  end !  " 

"  Amen,  and  amen !  "  echoed  a  feeble  voice  from 
the  old  lady's  chair. 

It  was  evident  that  Parson  Dole  had  gained  power 
ful  aid  to  the  cause.  Could  they  have  looked  into 
the  elegant  No.  22,  they  could  not  have  labored  with 
more  zeal,  but  with  sadder,  —  O,  how  much  sadder 
hearts ! 

Ephraim  laid  his  plans  in  a  straight-forward  manner. 
Early  the  next  morning  he  could  be  seen,  with  a 
slouched  hat  and  a  swaggering  gait,  making  his  way 
over  stiles  and  fences,  to  the  farms  which  lay  scattered 
in  his  own  district.  He  was  known  to  all  the  inhab 
itants  around  as  an  odd  fellow,  and  his  appearance  at 
any  time  would  not  awaken  the  least  suspicion,  for  he 
was  always  called  honest  Ephraim. 

As  he  sauntered  on,  he  espied  an  old  man  at  work 
in  a  field  near  by,  and  thought  he  would  make  his  first 
trial  on  him.  He  knew  that  the  man  had  never  suc 
ceeded  well  on  his  farm,  although  he  had  the  best  of 
land  to  cultivate,  and  his  wife  was  said  to  be  the 
greatest  worker  in  the  village.  Everything  went 
wrong. 

"  There  must  be  a  reason  for  it,"  thought  Ephraim; 
so,  springing  over  the  fence  that  separated  them,  he 
greeted  him  with, 

"  'Taters  don't  do  well  this  season,  hey  ?  " 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  51 

The  old  man  dropped  his  hoe,  and  looked  up. 

"  Do  well !  No ;  there  is  nothing  but  this  eternal 
rot.  I  've  dug  up  three  bushel  this  morning,  and 
here  's  only  a  peck  that  are  good  for  anything.  These 
will  be  specked  before  I  can  get  them  home,  I  '11  war 
rant." 

"  Is  that  your  corn,  yonder  ? "  asked  Ephraim,  point 
ing  to  a  distant  corn-field.  * 

"  Yes,  it  is  mine,  —  what  there  is  on't,"  replied  the 
man.  "  How  does  the  deacon  get  on  with  his  ? " 

"  First-rate,"  replied  Ephraim.  "  No  rot  in  his  po 
tatoes,  and  his  corn  never  looked  finer." 

"  111  luck  was  mine,  front  a  boy,"  continued  the 
workman,  "  so  here  goes;  "  and  he  went  to  work  again 
with  his  hoe. 

"What  do  you  do  to  your  taters  after  they  are 
planted  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  Why,  I  dig  around  them,  and  hoe  them,  hoe 
them,  hoe  them ;  and  there  's  no  use.  It 's  going  to 
be  a  warm  day,  though,  an't  it  ?  "  he  said,  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  forehead  with  his  shirt-sleeve. 

"  I  guess  't  is.  It  makes  a  man  thirsty,  too.  An't 
there  a  spring  here,  near  by  ?  " 

"  No,  never  a  spring  on  my  land.  I  have  to  bring 
my  drink.  It 's  under  the  wall,  there,  in  the  shade. 
Won't  you  take  some  ? " 

Ephraim  walked  up  to  the  spot,  and  raised  the  brown 
jug  to  his  lips.  Then  followed  a  spitting  and  spitting, 
and  all  kind  of  odd  demonstrations  of  horror. 

"  Blazers !  if  it  an't  half  rum !  " 


52  DURHAM   VILLAGE. 

"  Of  course,  man.  You  don't  think  I  can  work  on 
anything  else,  against  such  disappointments,  do  you?" 

"That's  one  thing  ails  your  taters,"  added 
Ephraim ;  "  it  don't  agree  with  them,  anyhow. 
Whew  !  Blazers !  I  '11  go  on  to  the  house  after  some 
water,  for  I  'm  all  a-fire ;  "  and,  jumping  over  the  stile, 
he  made  his  way  up  to  the  house. 

The  well*stood  in  the  back  yard,  with  its  long, 
friendly  sweep,  like  a  faithful  sentinel.  Thither 
Ephraim  repaired,  and,  drawing  up  the  good  cold 
water,  drank  it,  and  was  soon  on  his  way. 

"  Guess  I  '11  call  here,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
approached  a  neat,  white  house,  embosomed  in  a  grove 
of  trees.  He  opened  the  gate,  which  led  up  through  a 
large  and  thrifty  garden,  bordered  with  flowers  of 
every  variety.  He  stopped  and  gazed  at  the  barns, 
which  seemed  twice  as  large  as  the  house,  and  in  ex 
cellent  order;  and  rubbed  his  hands  with  great  delight, 
chuckling  to  think  this  was  a  temperance  farm. 

"  I  '11  just  step  in  to  rest  a  moment,"  he  said,  as 
Mrs.  Elder  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  Ephraim ;  dinner  is  just  ready." 

"  Don't  look  like  it,"  he  said;  "guess  I  can't  stay 
to  eat." 

"  Come  in ;  I  want  to  hear  about  your  plans  at  the 
farm,"  —  and  he  went  in. 

He  seemed  a  very  welcome  guest,  and,  having  been 
refreshed  with  a  frugal  meal,  he  started  again  on 
his  way.  He  came  to  a  path  which  seemed  to  lead 
somewhere,  and  thought  he  would  see  where.  So  he 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  53 

turned  down,  and  soon  came  in  sight  of  a  large  house, 
with  a  long,  slanting  roof.  It  seemed  to  have  been 
deserted,  as  there  were  no  traces  of  inmates,  and  the 
glass  was  broken  out  from  most  of  the  panes ;  yet  the 
foot-path  was  well  trodden,  and  he  made  bold  to  go 
up.  A  wolf-like  dog  sprang  from  under  the  shed, 
and  barked  furiously,  showing  his  long  teeth  with  a 
savage  expression. 

"  Larn  your  manners,"  exclaimed  Ephraim,  at  the 
same  time  throwing  a  stone,  and  hitting  the  creature  a 
blow  which  sent  him  yelping  to  the  shed.  "  Better 
try  it  agin,"  he  added,  as  the  dog  growled  and 
snapped  as  he  went  past ;  but  the  creature  retreated 
Jfc  his  kennel.  Ephraim  passed  on,  and  tried  the  latch 
to  the  door.  It  would  not  give  way  ;  it  seemed  to  be 
loubly  secured  with  bolt  and  bar.  Finding  no  en 
trance  there,  he  went  round  to  the  low  window  upon 
the  opposite  side  ;  this  was  well  guarded,  but,  giving 
it  a  "  full-force  lift,"  he  unbarred  it  and  jumped  in. 
The  sound  of  the  spring  made  the  old  house  echo  for  a 
moment,  then  all  was  still  again.  He  went  in,  from 
room  to  room,  until  he  reached  the  kitchen.  There, 
arranged  along  on  a  low  shelf,  were  tumblers,  and  un 
der  the  shelf  two  large  demijohns.  He  uncorked 
them ;  the  vapor  of  gin  and  rum  rolled  up  from  the 
inside,  and  "  G.  S."  with  large  initials  was  written  up 
on  the  sides.  Here,  then,  was  another  of  Giles  Stan- 
dish's  resorts. 

"  I  guess  I  '11  uncork  them,"  he  said,  and,  turning 
them  up,  he  hunted  for  more.     He  went  down  into  the 
5* 


54  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

cellar.  In  the  farthest  corner  stood  two  barrels, 
well  filled.  He  tapped  them,  left  them  running,  and 
retreated ;  but  not  until  he  had  secured  a  pitcher- 
full  for  the  use  of  the  dog.  The  creature  seemed  now 
determined  that  Ephraim  should  not  escape;  but, 
nothing  daunted,  he  threw  at  the  enraged  animal  the 
whole  pitcher  of  rum,  which,  entering  his  eyes,  made 
him  retreat,  howling  awfully. 

"  I  wish  't  was  your  master,"  said  Ephraim,  as  he 
listened  to  the  howling.  "  It 's  hard  to  abuse  dumb 
animals,  but,  when  they  sarve  Satan,  it 's  the  only  way/' 

He  turned  towards  home,  not  seeking  for  more  that 
day,  and  went  to  his  rest  with  a  satisfied  feeling, 
dreaming  of  Giles  Standish,  and  the  bungs  out ! 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A  WOMAN'S  "  SPHERE." 

IT  was  trujy  a  prudent  forethought  of  Parson  Dole's 
to  intrust  Julia  with  so  delicate  a  commission.  She 
was  just  fitted  for  the  labor,  and  went  forth  to  her  task 
whole-hearted.  Her  first  call  was  on  her  nearest 
neighbor,  whose  family  consisted  of  five  marriageable 
daughters.  She  had  crossed  the  fields  as  the  nearest 
way,  and  had  reached  the  house  just  as  the  setting  sun 
was  gilding  the  west.  She  stopped  to  admire  the 
scene  ere  she  knocked  at  the  door.  The  gold  and  pur 
ple  clouds,  like  swift-wheeled  chariots,  coursed  around 
the  horizon,  or,  dappled  with  every  rainbow  tint, 
sped  after  their  king,  and  were,  like  him,  soon  lost  to 
view.  The  mellow  light  played  upon  the  tall  trees 
softly  and  cheerily,  and  it  seemed  impossible  that  in 
such  a  beautiful  world  there  should  be  so  much  sorrow 
and  suffering  from  sin ;  yet  that  same  light  which,  shed 
such  a  softening  influence  into  her  pure  heart  shone 
on  sad,  sad  scenes,  not  far  from  where  she  stood.  She 
turned  and  knocked  at  the  door,  and  soon  gained  an 
entrance. 

With  an  earnest  manner,  she  told  her  errand,  most 


56  DURHAM   VILLAGE. 

inexpressibly  to  the  amusement  of  the  two  younger 
Misses  Downs,  who  blushed  and  laughed  alternately. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  eldest,  who  was  somewhat 
well  advanced  in  life ;  "  I  don't  know  about  my  bind 
ing  myself  to  a  promise  of  that  kind." 

"  I  like  it,"  said  the  next  in  age.  "  You  don't  catch 
me  tied  to  half  of  a  man,  —  a  man  that  likes  rum 
better  than  he  does  me." 

"  I  think  there  is  no  harm  in  a  very  little,  now  and 
then,  —  at  haying-time,  harvesting  and  the  like,"  inter 
rupted  the  third,  who  had  not  forgotten  the  wink 
from  Abiel  Parker's  eye,  and  the  pressure  of  his 
hand,  the  evening  before,  as  he  helped  her  over  the 
fence. 

"  No  harm  in  it!  "  interrupted  Julia ;  "  there  is  no 
safety  in  it.  Let  a  woman  marry  a  man  who  has  the 
least  inclination  to  take  alcoholic  drinks,  and  she  can 
not  lay  a  plan  for  the  future.  I  would  as  soon  put  to 
sea  in  a  leaking  boat." 

"  I  am  sure,"  exclaimed  the  younger,  "  Abiel  Par 
ker  is  as  likely  a  young  man  as  there  is  in  Durham ; 
his  farm  is  in  excellent  order,  and  he  takes  a  little,  now 
and  then,  though  no  one  calls  him  a  drinking  man, 
and  everybody  likes  him." 

"Everybody,"  added  Miss  Lucy. 

"Abiel  Parker  is  a  nice  young  man,  ma'am,"  said 
the  eldest  sister,  giving  a  wink  at  Lucy ;  "  a  very  nice 
young  man." 

"That  may  be,"  continued  Julia;  "he  does  look 
trim  in  person,  and  trim  in  farm.  But  look  at  his 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  57 

uncle,  there ;  mother  says  she  remembers  the  day  when 
he  was  as  spruce  as  his  nephew.  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  Abiel  will  be  as  worthless  a  sot  as  he,  but  I  do 
say  that  there  will  be  hours  when  she  who  is  his  wife  will 
feel  his  weakness ;  there  will  be  hours  when  the  hand 
which  should  be  strong  for  labor  will  shake  like  a 
palsied  frame ;  there  will  be  hours  when  a  suffering 
mother  will  hide  the  child  from  hearing  threats  and 
oaths  which  he  will  never  be  conscious  of  using,  and 
which,  in  his  sober  moments,  he  would  scorn  to  hear 
repeated ;  there  will  be  hours  "  (and  Julia  grew  warm 
in  her  argument)  "  when,  if  one  could  look  deep  into 
that  woman's  heart,  he  would  find  bleeding  wounds, 
not  from  open  insult,  but  from  neglected  duties.  Some 
angry  word  may  have  lodged  an  arrow  there,  which 
only  the  silence  of  the  grave  can  withdraw." 

Lucy  was  silent.  She  did  remember  —  ah,  how 
vividly!  —  once  seeing  this  same  young  man  in  a 
passion  of  anger,  —  a  passion  which  found  vent  on  a 
harmless  horse. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  at  length,  "  let  Abiel  rest.  Now 
there  's  John  Penn ;  he  takes  nothing  but  root-beer 
and  cider.  Could  not  I  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  you  're  asked,"  interrupted  the  younger, 
with  asperity  which  showed  that  a  wrong  chord  was 
touched  somewhere. 

"Nothing  but  cold  water,"  read  Julia,  as  she  laid 
her  paper  on  the  table,  and  handed  the  pen  to  the 
second  sister. 

She  wrote  her  name  in  good,  clear  letters,  and  then 


58  DURIIAM    VILLAGE. 

handed  the  pen  to  the  eldest.  She  wavered  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  followed  her  example. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  exclaimed  Lucy,  as  her  turn 
came. 

"  She  has  Abiel  Parker  in  her  eye,"  whispered  one 
of  the  sisters. 

"I  shall,"  said  the  fourth.  —  But  the  "baby,"  as 
she  was  called,  had  already  a  letter  of  John  Penn's 
in  her  pocket,  and  therefore  refused. 

"  Three  out  of  five,"  said  Julia  to  herself,  as  she 
reached  home.  "  I  hope  for  better  success  to-mor 
row." 

It  is  strange  how  hard  it  is  for  a  woman's  heart  to 
see  the  faults  of  him  whom  she  loves,  or  at  least  to 
acknowledge  them,  even  to  herself.  This  Julia  found 
fully  demonstrated  the  next  day,  in  her  call  on  Har 
riet  Bell.  She  was  engaged  to  a  young  machinist  of 
a  neighboring  village ;  a  man  of  much  energy  in  busi 
ness,  and  well-to-do  in  the  world,  but  acknowledged  by 
all  to  be  subject  to  what  they  technically  called  his 
"  sprees.'7  Harriet  never  believed  it ;  when  she  had 
seen  him,  he  had  been  sober,  and  "  charming."  He 
had  spoken  to  her  of  these  wicked  reports,  and  charged 
her  never  to  believe  them.  "Believe  nothing,"  he 
would  say,  laughing,  "but  your  own  eye-sight;  when 
you  see  me  so,  believe  it."  She  had  not  much  char 
acter,  but  what  she  had  seemed  to  be  concentrated  in  a 
mulish  obstinacy.  Nothing  could  move  her  from  her 
purpose.  Julia  felt  it  would  be  useless  to  go  to  her. 
She  had,  for  a  moment,  some  scruples  as  to  the  right 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  59 

to  interfere  in  such  an  affair ;  but  she  wished  to  save 
the  girl,  if  possible,  and  therefore  went. 

Harriet  met  her  arguments  with  sullen  silence,  at 
first ;  yet,  as  Julia  went  on  gently,  but  with  a  truthful 
delineation  of  what  might  be  her  fate  in  life,  she 
deigned  to  speak. 

"  I  have  no  proof  of  his  bad  habits,  that  I  ac 
knowledge  as  sufficient." 

"  If  others  feared  it,  I  would  know  the  truth,"  re 
plied  Julia. 

"  ?  believe  nothing  but  what  I  see,"  she  answered. 

"  Poor  girl !  "  exclaimed  Julia.  "  Heaven  help  you 
when  your  eyes  are  opened  !  " 

"  I  don't  much  care,  either,"  she  added,  "  if  he  does 
take  a  little  too  much,  now  and  then.  It  is  not  often, 
if  at  all,  so  they  say,  and  when  it  is  so  he  sleeps  it  off 
soon." 

"  Do  not  talk  so,  Harriet,"  said  Julia ;  "  it  is  ter 
rible  to  think  of.  An  immortal  mind  stupefied,  bru 
talized,  by  drink  !  Where  is  the  soul  ?  What  if  he 
should  die  in  one  of  those  sleeps  ? " 

Harriet  started.  "  I  never  thought  of  that,"  she 
said.  "  No  danger,  either.  I  don't  believe  in  that,  you 
see." 

"  That  is  no  reason  that  it  may  not  happen,"  said 
Julia.  "  People  do  die  so.  Go  drunk  into  eternity  ! 
What  if  he  should  have  delirium  tremens  ?  It 's  a 
probable  thing  -g-  hooting  and  hissing,  and  haunted 
with  snakes ;  knocking  his  head  against  the  side  of  the 
room,  and  sleeping  on  a  loaded  gun.  I  heard  of  such 


60  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

an  one  once,  who  was  very  like  your  friend  when 
young." 

"  I  shan't  sign  your  paper,  at  any  rate  ;  but  I  will 
consider." 

This  was  as  much  as  Julia  had  hoped  from  her,  and, 
although  it  really  amounted  to  nothing,  she  went  on 
her  errand  with  a  lightened  heart. 

In  many  places  she  met  with  no  obstacles  at  all. 
These  were  to  her  moments  of  great  comfort.  For 
days  she  would  return  home  almost  disheartened.  She 
had  to  suit  her  arguments  to  every  kind  of  objection, 
and  felt  herself  unequal  to  her  task.  But  the  great 
work  was  before  her,  and  she  toiled  on.  Mrs.  Cor- 
neille  gave  her  startling  anecdotes  from  her  own  ex 
perience,  which  she  used  well ;  and  every  moment  of 
her  time  was  occupied. 

She  was  a  fearless  rider  on  horseback,  —  a  kind  ^f 
riding  which  had  been  recommended  to  her  from 
childhood  for  her  health,  —  and  she  availed  herself  of 
this  method  to  reach  the  more  distant  parts  of  the  vil 
lage. 

Riding  thus  one  afternoon,  in  rather  a  lonely  spot, 
she  was  startled  to  come  suddenly  upon  a  small  gath 
ering  of  men,  who  appeared  in  earnest  conversation, 
but,  on  seeing  her,  lowered  their  voices,  and  pointed 
significantly  towards  her. 

"  It's  the  deacon's  daughter,"  said  one. 

"  Blast  it !  "  ejaculated  another ;  "  do  you  think  she 
heard  what  we  said  ? " 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  61 

"  No,  "  replied  another.  "  If  she  did,  she  did  not 
understand." 

"  Better  make  sure,"  said  another,  stepping  forward 
to  lay  his  hand  upon  the  bridle  of  her  horse. 

"  Man.  no  mischief ! "  swore  a  tall,  gaunt  figure, 
who  seemed  to  be  the  leader.  "  Let  her  alone." 

Julia  touched  Dolly  with  her  whip,  who,  seeming  to 
understand  the  danger,  started  off  at  a  rapid  pace. 

"  What  a  fool  you  are,  Jim  Kelly !  Don't  you 
know,  if  you  tell  a  woman  to  keep  a  secret,  she  '11  be 
sure  to  tell  it  ?  It 's  more  than  a  chance  she  did  not 
hear  a  word,  and  you  would  spoil  the  whole." 

"  Leave  her  alone  for  not  hearing.  She  heard 
enough,  I  know,  because  she  could  not  help  hear 
ing." 

a  In  a  few  moments,  however,  they  seemed  sure  she 
was  out  of  the  way,  and  recommenced  their  business. 

Julia  felt  alarmed,  and  determined  not  to  go  further 
that  way,  but  took  a  cross-road  back  to  the  more 
settled  parts  of  the  town.  The  road  continued  for 
about  two  miles,  and  then  for  a  short  way  ran 
among  thick  woods,  far  away  from  any  house.  She 
had  ridden  on  safely  to  the  thickest  part  of  the  path, 
when  suddenly  a  man  emerged  from  the  trees,  and  she 
recognized  the  same  who  had  endeavored  to  stop  her 
before.  He  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  with 
his  hat  slouched  over  his  eyes,  which  were  intently 
fixed  upon  her. 

"  Can't  escape  this  time,"  he  said,  as  he  sprang  to 
the  horse's  head.     "  I  just  want  to  talk  a  moment ; 
6 


62  DURHAM    VILLAGE.      - 

you  have  been  to  see  Harriet  Bell,  have  you,  with ' 
your  puling  Methodism ? —  I'll  let  you  know  I  am  the 
young  machinist,  and  if  you  don't  let  my  business 
alone,  it  will  not  be  for  nothing  I  meet  you  again." 

"  Harriet  is  an  innocent  girl,  now,"  replied  Julia, 
quite  calm  when  she  found  with  whom  she  had  to  deal, 
"  and  I  would  never  object  to  her  marrying  James 
Kelly,  had  he  always  the  same  noble  nature  which  is 
his  birthright." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  he  exclaimed,  dropping  the  lines  with 
an  oath.  "  Don't  pule  round  her  again !  " 

"Mr.  Kelly,"  continued  Julia,  "my  duty  is  my 
duty.  I  should  think,  were  it  true  love  you  had  for 
her,  you  would  wish  to  spare  her  the  misery  which 
must  come  to  her  if  she  marries  you  with  your  habits 
as  they  are  now.  You  know  what  that  will  be,"  ai 
she  looked  him  full  in  the  eye,  under  which  glanc( 
quailed  visibly. 

"  Never  you  mind  that !"  he  said.  "  When  I  swear, 
I  swear ;  and  I  've  taken  my  oath,  if  you  ever  go  to 
see  her  again  on  such  an  errand,  I  will  have  my  re 
venge.  Stop,  —  there's  another  thing,"  he  added, 
seizing  the  bridle,  as  she  started  to  go ;  "  if  you  over 
heard  anything  we  said  in  the  way  yonder,  keep  your 
peace,  or  — "  But  Dolly  was  weary  and  impatient. 
She  commenced  rearing  and  plunging,  so  that  he  could 
not  hold  her ;  she  sprang  forward,  and,  in  so  doing, 
felled  him  to  the  ground.  Julia  turned  to  see  if  he 
were  injured,  but,  seeing  him  up,  and  walking  briskly 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  63 

towards  her,  she  gave  loose  reins  to  the  horse,  who 
trotted  rapidly  home. 

"  Some  plan  afloat,"  said  Deacon  Lundley,  as  Julia 
repeated  her  adventures  at  the  evening  fireside ;  "  but 
Ephraim  will  scent  it  out  before  voting  day." 


CHAPTEB,     X. 

THE  SICK-ROOM. 

EDITH  reclined  languidly  on  the  sofa.  "William  had 
given  his  first  party  the  night  before.  It  was  a  splen 
did  affair;  the  Morning  Post,  which  lay  by  her 
side,  had  extolled  it  to  the  utmost,  and  she  had  just 
finished  reading  the  account,  with  a  feeling  of  pride 
and  satisfaction.  The  only  thing  in  the  report  which 
she  disliked  was  the  description  of  the  ladies,  who 
could  not  fail  to  be  known,  as  their  initials  were  in 
full.  The  compliment  to  herself  was  delicate  and 
beautiful.  She  was  pleased,  although  a  little  shocked 
at  the  publicity  of  such  a  notice. 

"  Well,  it  was  a  fine  party,"  she  thought,  "  and  Wil 
liam  spared  neither  expense  nor  trouble;  but,  after  all, 
I  had  rather  not  have  given  it.  Too  many  young  men 
went  away  light-headed,  and  some  ladies  did  not  retire 
as  gracefully  as  they  entered ;  and  even  I  —  "  She 
drew  a  long  breath,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  head. 
"  Yes,  William  is  a  noble  brother,  but  he  indulges  too 
freely  in  wine." 

At  this  moment  Susan  opened  the  parlor  door,  and 
announced  Mr.  Henley,  who  apologized  for  his  early 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  65 

call  in  a  gentlemanly  manner,  and  took  his  seat  by 
Edith's  side. 

"  You  must  find  yourself  very  weary  this  morning, 
Miss  Lundley;  but  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask,  if  you 
can  grant  it." 

"  It  will  give  me  much  pleasure,"  replied  Edith, 
"  to  serve  Mr.  Henley  in  any  way  possible." 

"  I  should  not  trouble  you,  but  there  is  a  very  sick 
lady  whom  I  would  help,  and  she  needs  instant  atten 
tion.  Can  you  give  it  ?  I  will  accompany  you  to 
the  door." 

In  a  few  moments  Edith  was  ready,  and  stepped 
into  the  carriage  with  a  light  heart. 

"  No.  14,  Blossom-street,"  said  Mr.  Henley  to  the 
driver,  who  turned  the  corner  of  the  street  and  drove 
on  rapidly. 

"  Spare  no  expense,"  whispered  Mr.  Henley,  as  the 
carriage  stopped,  and  Edith  alighted.  "  It  is  up  three 
pairs  of  stairs  —  the  corner  room.  I  will  see  you  to 
the  door,  and  wait.  Stay  as  long  as  necessary ;  my 
time  is  hers,  for  the  present." 

Edith  made  her  way  up  over  the  narrow  stairs,  until 
she  reached  the  door.  It  stood  partly  open,  so  that 
her  gentle  knock  was  instantly  heard,  and  a  feeble 
voice  bade  her  enter. 

"  It  must  be  a  stranger  who  seeks  for  me,"  continued 
the  speaker  ;  "  for  I  have  no  lady  friend,"  she  added, 
as  her  eyes  rested  upon  Edith,  who  immediately  recog 
nized  the  same  person  who  had  left  Mr.  Henley's  first 
note  at  the  door,  and  disappeared  so  mysteriously. 
6* 


66  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

She  lay  upon  the  bed,  too  weak  to  raise  her  head. 

"How  sick  you  are!"  exclaimed  Edith,  as  she 
heard  the  breath  come  quick  and  short.  "  You  must 
have  the  doctor." 

"  O,  no  !  "  languidly  replied  the  invalid.  "  He  can 
do  nothing.  My  body  is  not  sick ;  it  is  my  mind, 
and  he  cannot  help  me.  Do  give  me  some  water," 
she  continued,  pressing  her  parched  lips  together.  "  I 
am  burning  here  !  "  and  she  laid  her  hand  upon  her 
breast. 

Edith  rose  and  took  a  glass  of  water  from  the  ta 
ble,  observing,  for  the  first  time,  the  neatness  of  the 
room,  and  the  tasteful  simplicity  which  marked  it, 
although  the  floor  was  uncarpeted,  and  the  furniture 
uncommonly  coarse. 

"  0,  I  burn  here,"  exclaimed  the  invalid,  as  she 
handed  back  the  empty  tumbler ;  "  and  I  am  faint  — 
faint !  " 

"  Have  you  no  wine  ?  A  drop  might  keep  you  from 
sinking." 

"  Wine  !  "  she  shrieked  :  "  it  has  been  my  curse  ! 
Wine  !  not  if  I  die  !  "  and  it  seemed  almost  as  though 
she  were  dying.  The  pale  face  grew  still  paler,  the 
breath  came  quicker,  then  suddenly  stopped. 

"  0,  do,  Mr.  Henley,  come  in !  "  called  Edith,  as 
she  opened  the  door.  "  I  believe  she  is  dead." 

Mr.  Henley  stepped  up  to  the  bed,  and  laid  his  hand 
on  the  pulse.  It  flickered  a  little,  a  slight  —  ah  !  how 
slight  throb ! 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  67 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  she  has  only  fainted.  Open  the 
window,  and  then  just  rub  her  hands." 

In  a  few  moments  she  revived,  —  but  not  before  Mr. 
Henley  had  left  the  room,  and  summoned  a  physician. 

"  It  is  evident  that  fever  has  settled  upon  her,  and 
she  must  be  well  tended,"  said  Doctor  Flagg,  as  he 
left  the  room.  "  Poor  thing  !  kind  nursing  and  kind 
words  will  do  more  for  her  than  medicine.  She  must 
have  a  good  nurse." 

Edith  remained  with  her  until  all  necessary  prepar 
ations  were  made,  and  then  rose  to  leave.  The  sick 
woman  called  her  to  her,  and  whispered, 

"Before  you  go,  please  open  the  drawer  of  that 
chest,  and  hand  me  a  lock  of  hair  that  lies  in  a  small 
box  there ;  then  lock  the  drawer  and  take  the  key,  —  1 
know  I  can  trust  you." 

Edith  did  as  she  was  requested.  She  opened  the 
drawer,  and  was  surprised  to  see  the  jewelry  which  lay 
there,  —  chains  of  exquisite  workmanship,  and  rings 
of  every  variety.  Amid  these  treasures  she  saw  one 
small  mosaic  ring,  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  one 
she  had  tossed  from  her ;  but  she  did  not  stay  to  ex 
amine,  but,  taking  a  soft,  flaxen  ringlet  from  the  box, 
locked  the  drawer,  and  carried  the  hair  to  the  invalid. 
She  seized  it  with  eagerness,  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and 
laid  it  on  her  bosom.  Shortly  after,  Edith  withdrew, 
promising  to  visit  her  the  next  day,  and  cautioning 
the  nurse  to  admit  no  one  to  the  room,  save  the  physi 
cian  and  herself. 

"I  am  truly  indebted  to  you,  Miss  Lundlcy,"  said 


68  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

Mr.  Henley,  as  he  left  her  at  her  own  door ;  "  and 
she  will  ever  be  grateful  to  you.  Poor  child  !  " 

As  Edith  entered  the  entry,  Susan  appeared  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  with  an  agitated  countenance,  and 
shaking  like  a  leaf. 

"  0,  Miss  Lundley !  "  exclaimed  she,  "  that  is  you, 
is  it  ?  Mr.  Lundley,  ma'am,  Mr.  Lundley  is  —  " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Susan  ?  "  inquired  Edith,  as 
she  met  the  terrified  girl  on  the  landing  of  the  stairs. 

"  0,  Mr.  Lundley,  ma'am  —  I  should  think  he  was 
mad !  He  has  been  howling  in  his  room  this  hour, 
and  I  don't  dare  go  in.  I  heard  him  call  for  you  just 
now,  and  he  seems  a  little  more  quiet." 

Edith  had  good  courage.  Hers  was  not  a  charac 
ter  to  be  intimidated  easily,  and,  in  face  of  the  howl 
ing,  which  had  recommenced,  she  went  straight  to  the 
door  and  opened  it. 

Her  brother  lay  on  the  floor,  rolling  like  a  beast, 
knocking  his  head,  and  howling.  When  he  saw  her 
he  tried  to  spring  up,  but  in  vain ;  so  he  ground  his 
teeth,  and  shook  his  fist  at  her  furiously.  A  bottle 
stood  upon  the  table  empty,  and  Edith  read  the  reason 
of  this  state  of  things  there.  It  had  contained  bran 
dy,  and  this,  with  all  which  he  had  been  obliged  to  take 
the  night  before,  had  worked  this  destruction.  Never 
before  had  Edith  seen  him  thus.  She  had  often  seen 
him  asleep,  but  now,  —  ah  !  how  different !  He  tried 
again  to  rise,  but  fell  again,  and  again  shook  his 
hands  furiously.  He  could  not  speak  distinctly,  but 
it  was  evident  that  he  wished  her  to  give  him  more  to 


DURHAM   VILLAGE.  69 

drink.  The  taste  was  there,  and  hell  had  a  hold  on 
its  victim ! 

For  a  while  she  could  not  tell  what  was  best  for  her 
to  do ;  but  at  last  she  decided  to  send  for  Mr.  Henley, 
and,  turning  the  key  on  the  outside  of  the  door,  she 
left  him.  What  else  could  she  have  done  ?  Had  she 
gone  near  him,  he  would  have  struck  her  down,  —  for 
this  was  his  first  attack  of  delirium  tremens  ! 

"  0,  Mr.  Henley,"  said  Edith,  as  this  gentleman 
entered  the  parlor, "  I  have  had  to  call  your  aid  soon; 
William  —  "  and  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

He  placed  his  hand,  tenderly  as  that  of  a  father, 
upon  her  shoulder,  and  with  the  other  laid  back  the 
hair  which  fell  over  her  forehead. 

"I  know  it,"  he  said;  "I  heard  him  as  I  entered 
the  door.  I  will  go  up  to  him  now,  and  we  will  speak 
of  it  some  other  time.  Go  and  rest,  child," —  (it  wasr 
the  first  time  he  had  called  her  child)  "go  and  rest  un 
til  dinner;  I  will  stay  with  him." 

How  kindly  he  spoke  to  her!  She  relieved  her 
feelings  by  another  flood  of  tears,  and  then  went  to 
her  room. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

WHAT    CAN   BE    DONE  ? 

EDITH'S  chamber  was  connected  with  that  of  her 
brother  by  a  closet,  so  that  she  could  distinctly  hear 
all  that  was  said  within,  although  both  doors  were 
tightly  shut.  She  knew  that  Mr.  Henley  was  en 
deavoring  to  soothe  him,  and  help  him  to  the  bed ;  and 
she  heard  the  helpless  man  fall  back  again  and  again 
,on  the  floor.  At  last  there  came  a  frightful  scream, 
and  she  heard  William  call  out,  in  an  agony, 

"  0,  take  it  off,  man  !  take  it  off!  how  it  stings  ! 
There  is  another  in  the  corner  —  hear  him  hiss !  See 
him  grin,  grin,  grin  !  0,  there  are  a  thousand  of  them  ! 
Can't  you  help  me  ?  Murder  !  "  and  the  room  echoed 
back  the  hollow  sound. 

"  Hush,  Mr.  Lundley  !  "  said  Mr.  Henley.  "  Let 
me  help  you  to  your  bed ;  there  —  come  ;  "  and  Edith 
heard  him  walk  across  the  room.  Another  cry  for 
help.  She  could  not  resist  that,  and,  stepping  through 
the  closet,  she  half  opened  the  door,  and  asked  if  she 
"  could  not  bathe  his  head." 

"  Something,  —  0,  Mr.  Henley,  is  there  nothing  I 
can  do  ? " 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  71 

The  intoxicated  man  heard  her  voice,  and  with  a 
volley  of  oaths  bade  her  be  out  of  his  sight. 

"  Sneaking  old  woman !  "  he  cried,  "  out  of  my 
room !  Go  tell  your  mother  and  my  mother  that  I 
love  religion !  It  is  only  my  mother's  prayers  that 
have  saved  me  !  Bless  the  old  lady!  She  is — there 
is  not  another  like  her ;  and  it  is  her  example  that 
makes  me  what  I  am  !  Yes,  I  don't  pray  much,  but 
I  respect  religion.  Tell  her,  — you  hear, — tell  her,  so 
that  she  may  know  how  much  I  love  her  !  She  's  a 
woman,  and  I  love  religion.  There  's  nothing  like 
it ! " 

This  was  too  much  for  Edith ;  she  turned,  went  back 
to  her  room,  and  wept  long  and  bitterly.  Clouds  were 
gathering  around  her  "  fairy  home,"  and  their  deep 
shadows  were  encircling  her. 

Six  o'clock  came,  and  with  it  dinner  was  announced. 
Edith  had  as  far  as  possible  wiped  away  all  traces  of 
tears,  and  arranged  her  dress  with  exact  elegance  and 
taste.  She  knew,  by  the  stillness  of  the  adjoining 
room,  that  her  brother  was  sleeping,  and  that  all  dan 
ger  for  the  present  was  over ;  and  with  this  thought 
hope  came  back  to  her  stout  heart,  and  during  dinner 
she  conversed  fluently  and  pleasantly  with  Mr.  Henley, 
not  alluding  to  the  events  of  the  morning,  for  Susan 
was  in  waiting ;  but,  when  they  were  alone  in  the  par 
lor,  she  seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  and,  looking  up  with 
her  whole  heart  in  her  face,  she  inquired  of  Mr.  Hen 
ley,  who  was  standing  by  the  window,  "  What  can  be 
done?" 


72  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

He  came  and  took  a  seat  by  her  side,  simply  reit 
erating  the  question,  "What  can  be  done  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  continued  Edith,  "  he  will  never  be  so 
affected  again.  What  do  you  think  it  was  ?  Not 

de ."  She  could  not  finish  the  question,  but  waited 

for  Mr.  Henley's  reply. 

"  Yes,  rny  child,  it  was,  and  Heaven  only  knows  what 
can  be  done.  The  curse  of  the  thing  is,  that  society 
claims  just  so  much  from  a  man.  If  one  refuses  wine 
in  our  circle,  they  are  Methodistical  or  mean ;  and  if 
a  man  gives  wine,  he  must  take  it,  and,  tasting,  there 
is  little  hope." 

"  Cannot  we  persuade  William  ? " 

"  I  fear  not,  Miss  Lundley ;  there  is  no  help  for 
such  as  he,  unless  he  sign  the  pledge,  and  that  he 
never  will  do.  I  wish  the  liquor-bill  could  be  executed 
here;  but,  alas !  our  mayor  does  not  favor  it,  and  many 
of  the  aldermen  object." 

"  I  wish  they  could  know  the  extent  of  the  evil," 
interrupted  Edith;  —  "how  many  noble  hearts  it  bru 
talizes." 

"Kno%v  it! "  replied  Mr.  Henley ;  "  they  do  know  it; 
but  gain,  almighty  gain,  and  popular  favor,  influence 
them.  What  care  they  for  the  suffering  of  the  people? 
Ask  any  one  of  them  to  relieve  a  single  case  of  suf 
fering  that  they  knew  was  real,  and  they  would  answer 
back  with  a  ready  sympathy ;  and  yet,  come  to  them 
with  a  claim  which  shall  restore  thousands  to  home  and 
happiness,  and  they  refuse  to  aid." 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  73 


"  Perhaps  they  indulge  freely  themselves,  and  you 
strike  home." 

"  Possibly  it  is  so ;  yet  that  is  not  their  given 
motive.  They  say  the  people  will  get  it  somehow  and 
somewhere,  and  it  is  less  of  a  crime  to  license  shops 
than  to  have  the  people  smuggle  it  in ;  and  they  also 
say  severe  sickness  requires  it." 

"  Apothecaries  can  keep  it,  —  men  of  religious  prin 
ciple;  that  is  no  reason." 

"  Half  of  the  crimes  of  the  city  are  traced  to  this 
source.  I  noticed,  not  long  since,  in  the  statistics  of 
English  crime,  that,  almost  without  an  exception,  it 
could  be  traced  back  to  drinking.  It  is  undoubtedly 
so  with  our  criminal  cases." 

"  They  are  eager  enough  to  break  up  gambling- 
houses.  If  they  would  break  up  the  wine-merchants, 
they  would  strike  at  the  root"  said  Edith. 

"  That  is  true,  but  .they  will  not  do  it;  it  is  strange, 
too.  The  people  must  vote  it  down.  "We  must  work 
for  it.  It  is  no  light  labor.  Talk  of  the  abolition  of 
slavery  !  let  us  abolish  liquors  first.  We  northerners 
have  enough  to  do  to  '  take  the  beam  out  of  our  own 
eye,'  before  we  look  at  the  mote  in  our  brother's  eye. 
Rum,  brandy,  gin,  wine,  are  harder  masters  than  the 
worst  slave-holder,  for  they  destroy  both  body  and 
soul.  I  have  taken  my  oath  against  tasting  it,  and 
will  work  against  it  as  long  as  I  can." 

"  And  that  is  mine." 

The  prayer  that  went  up  months  ago,  in  the  stillness 
of  that  quiet  home,  had  been  heard  and  answered. 


74  DURHAM   VILLAGE. 

"Now,  then,  what  can  we  do  for  your  brother?" 
asked  Mr.  Henley.  "  Charity  begins  at  home." 

"  I  will  remove  this  wine,  the  first  of  anything,"  she 
exclaimed,  rising  and  taking  the  decanters  and  glasses 
from  the  side-board;  "and,  as  long  as  I  remain  here, 
I  will  never  offer  it  to  any  friend." 

"  Can  you  persevere  in  this  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Henley, 
with  an  inquisitive  look.  He  read  determination  in 
that  flashing  eye,  and  knew  that  she  was  safe.  "  Keep 
firm  to  your  principle,"  he  added,  "  and  there  may  be 
hope ;  if  not  —  " 

Edith  started ;  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  met 
Mr.  Henley,  his  expression  was  more  than  that  of 
fatherly  anxiety,  and  the  blood  mounted  in  torrents  to 
her  face.  Ashamed  of  the  thought,  and  fearful  lest 
he  might  interpret  it  with  his  keen  insight,  she  rose 
and  walked  across  the  room  to  regain  her  composure, 
giving  as  an  excuse  that "  she  would  ring  for  a  light." 

"  I  think  the  twilight  delightful,  at  this  season  of  the 
year,  Miss  Lundley ;  I  beg  you  will  not  have  a  light." 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  prefer  it  without;"  and  she 
returned  to  the  sofa,  having  by  this  time  composed  her 
thoughts. 

"  Well,"  continued  Mr.  Henley,  "  we  two  cannot  do 
a  great  deal  for  temperance,  in  this  immense  city ;  but 
every  little  helps,  and,  if  we  can  save  William,  —  " 

"  It  is  worth  everything.     0,  we  must  I  " 

"  But,  Miss  Lundley,  such  attacks  as  he  has  had  are 
very  dangerous.  Were  they  often  repeated,  there 
would  be  no  security  for  you." 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  75 

"  Never  fear  for  me;  I  have  no  fear  for  myself;  but 
we  shall  persuade  him  to  forsake  it  soon,  I  know  we 
shall." 

"  If  not  —  "  and  he  cast  the  same  look  upon  her 
again,  and  again  she  felt  the  blush  remount  to  her 
temples,  and  knew  she  could  not  conceal  it. 

At  this  moment  William  opened  the  door,  walked 
in,  and  threw  himself  into  a  rocking-chair.  His  limbs 
trembled,  and  his  hands  shook.  He  was  not  inclined 
to  speak,  but  was  sullen  and  dejected.  Mr.  Henley's 
presence  did  not  rouse  him  to  converse.  He  was  rest 
less,  and  moved  incessantly  back  and  forth  in  his  chair. 
At  last  he  sprang  up,  exclaiming,  he  "  could  stand  it 
no  longer,  and  would  have  something  to  make  him  feel 
better,"  and  approached  the  sideboard.  "  Gone!  "  he 
shrieked,  "  gone !  some  one  has  robbed  me,  Mr.  Hen 
ley  !  " 

"  No  fear  of  that"  replied  Mr.  Henley,  advancing 
towards  him.  "  It  is  only  laid  by  for  safe  keeping ; 
such  an  addition  would  be  fearful  for  you,  to-night. 
Come,  we  will  go  up  stairs." 

Edith  watched  Mr.  Henley's  movements,  to  see  how 
he  had  gained  so  much  control  over  her  brother,  and 
noticed  that  he  moved  him  with  the  fixedness  of  his 
eye ;  and  they  went  out  from  the  parlor  in  this  manner. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  Mr.  Henley  returned  to 
request  Edith's  permission  for  him  to  pass  the  night 
with  her  brother,  as  his  nerves  were  still  terribly  agi 
tated  ;  to  which  request  Edith  gave  a  cordial  and 
thankful  acquiescence. 


76  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

After  she  had  retired  to  her  room,  she  seated  her 
self  by  the  window,  and  indulged  in  a  long  series  of 
plans.  She  felt  that  there  was  opening  before  her  a 
hard,  stern  conflict;  but, she  did  not  shrink,  and  in  the 
stillness  of  that  night-hour  she  made  her  resolve  to 
save  him  if  she  could.  Her  thoughts  wandered  to  her 
quiet  home,  and  to  the  inmates  there.  "  Should  she 
ask  them  for  counsel  ?  No.  On  whom,  then,  can 
I  lean  ?  —  on  Mr.  Henley  ?  Shall  I  ?  Mr.  Dunlap 
would  fain  serve  me,  but  he  is  reserved  for  another 
fate."  She  closed  the  window,  and  retired. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE    COUNTRY   SEAT. 

"  I  wisn,  Susan,  you  would  notice  particularly  who 
leaves  these  beautiful  flowers  so  often  at  the  door," 
said  Edith,  as  she  stooped  to  inhale  the  fragrance  of  a 
fresh  boquet  which  lay  on  the  table.  "  They  are  very 
rare,  and  very  expensive.  I  wish  the  giver  would 
leave  his  card." 

"  There  's  no  telling,  ma'am,  whence  they  come ;  for 
there 's  never  the  same  person  leaves  them.  I  asked 
the  little  girl  who  brought  them  this  morning  who  sent 
them,  and  she  said  she  did  not  know ;  he  was  a  very 
nice  gentleman,  but  she  never  heard  his  name." 

"  Can  it  be  Mr.  Henley  ?  "  thought  Edith,  as  Susan 
withdrew.  "  I  think  he  would  have  brought  them 
himself.  "What  is  this  ?  "  she  said,  as  her  eye  rested 
on  a  package  addressed  to  her,  upon  the  sofa. 
"  Strange  that  Susan  did  not  tell  me  of  it  before ! 
Susan  ?  "  she  called,  as  the  servant  passed  through  the 
dining-room.  "  Do  you  know  who  left  this  package ? ' 

"  Package  ?  No,  ma'am ;  I  have  had  none  handed 
to  me." 

"  But  here  it  is,  on  the  sofa." 

The  astonished  girl  would  have  lingered  to  satisfy 
7* 


78  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

her  curiosity  as  to  the  contents,  but,  seeing  Miss  Lund- 
ley  lay  it  by  unopened,  she  returned  to  her  duties. 

Edith  then  took  it  up,  untied  the  string,  and  care 
fully  unfolded  the  paper ;  saw  the  contents,  retied  the 
bundle,  and  laid  it  back,  without  the  slightest  change 
of  countenance. 

William  now  drove  to  the  door  with  the  <c  grays." 
Edith  "must  take  a  ride;  he  was  going  out  into  the 
country  on  business,  and  the  fresh  air  would  do  her 
good."  He  was  sober  now,  and  she  did  not  fear  to 
intrust  herself  with  him,  though  the  horses  were  in  full 
spirits,  rearing  and  plunging  when  they  started  from 
the  house.  It  was  pleasant  for  her  to  escape  from 
the  pent-up  city,  and  breathe  again  the  pure  air  of  the 
country.  She  drank  it  in  like  a  cordial,  and  it  had  an 
influence  upon  her  spirits,  making  her  almost  gay. 

"  Here  is  where  I  have  to  stop,"  said  William,  as  a 
fine  country-seat  appeared  half  hidden  among  the 
trees.  "  Beautiful  grounds  to  walk  in.  Will  you 
come  up  to  the  house,  or  walk  about  them  ?  I  shall 
not  be  detained  long." 

The  air  was  too  invigorating  to  be  lost,  and  Edith 
determined  to  remain  without,  to  enjoy  it.  The  thought 
however,  crossed  her  mind,  that  it  might  be  better  for 
her  to  go  in  with  William,  lest  he  might  be  offered 
wine,  and  take  too  much ;  then  she  thought  she  could 
not  speak  of  it  before  her  host,  and  it  was  better  to 
do  it  now,  and  then  remain  in  the  garden. 

"  William,"  said  she,  as  she  stepped  lightly  from 
the  carriage,  "  make  me  one  promise  before  you  go  in." 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  79 

William  looked  up,  surprised. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  me  to  promise  ?  " 

"Do  not  touch  any  wine  to-day;  you  have  not 
strength  to  bear  it." 

"  Nonsense,  Dithie !  go  walk  about  the  grounds,  and 
I  will  hunt  you  up  when  I  am  ready  to  go." 

Edith  gave  him  one  earnest  look,  which  spoke  more 
than  words  could  have  done,  and  turned  her  course 
among  the  exquisite  box  borders  of  the  garden.  At 
the  end  of  the  walk  there  was  a  grove  of  trees,  and, 
taking  a  tempting  little  foot-path,  she  entered  its  deep 
shade,  until  it  led  her  to  a  pond,  where  benches  and 
seats  were  fantastically  arranged  to  lure  the  weary 
visitor.  Though  not  herself  a  weary  one,  she  could 
not  resist  the  luxury  of  the  seat  far  in  the  shade, 
but,  seating  herself,  watched  the  ripples  which  the  in 
sect's  wing  caused  upon  the  calm  water.  Suddenly  a 
stick  was  thrown  in,  and  a  large  spaniel  rushed  in  after 
it,  returning  soon  to  the  shore  with  his  treasure,  and 
laying  it  upon  the  bank. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  Well  done  !  Fine  fellow,  Dago,  good 
fellow  !  "  laughed  out  the  merry  voice  of  a  child,  un 
til  then  concealed  from  view,  but  now  hurrying  out 
from  among  the  trees  to  caress  the  dog. 

"  Fine  fellow,  dear  Dago  !  "  and  he  laid  his  curly 
head  upon  the  neck  of  the  dog,  and  patted  him  with 
his  white  hand. 

"  Why,  you  're  all  wet,"  he  said,  playfully,  as  he 
raised  his  head  and  shook  the  ringlets  over  his  fore- 


80  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

head.  "  You  have  wet  me  like  rain,  you  naughty 
thing  !  "  and  again  he  patted  the  pretty  creature. 

"  Where  did  you  put  my  ball  ?  hey,  Dago  ?  You 
had  it  in  your  mouth ;  where  is  it  ? "  and  the  child 
commenced  to  hunt  for  it  in  the  low  grass.  "  Can't 
find  it,  Dago ;  naughty  Dago !  " 

Edith  saw  the  ball  near  her  foot,  and,  picking  it  up, 
tossed  it  down  the  bank,  so  that  it  rolled  to  the  side 
of  the  little  hunter. 

"  Who  rolled  it  ?  Nina,  I  know  't  was  you.  Come 
here  and  play,  or  I  will  come  there,"  he  said,  scaling 
the  bank  as  fast  as  he  could. 

"  It  is  not  Nina,"  said  Edith,  as  he  reached  the  top 
of  the  bank;  "  but  it  is  one  who  can  play,  perhaps,  as 
well  as  Nina.  Toss  me  the  ball." 

The  child,  shy  for  a  moment,  stood  still,  with  his 
tiny  hands  folded  over  his  bosom,  looking  wonderingly 
at  her. 

"It  is  not  Nina,"  continued  Edith;  "but  come, 
toss  me  the  ball." 

"  Can  you  play  ball  ?  "  inquired  the  little  fellow, 
eagerly. 

"Toss  it  here,"  she  said,  "and  see."  There  was 
something  so  beautiful  in  the  expression  of  that 
child's  face,  that  she  almost  forgot  to  catch  the  ball  as 
he  tossed  it  to  her  with  another  merry  laugh.  She 
thought  she  had  seen  those  features  before,  and  she 
began  to  wonder  more  and  more,  as  she  continued  to 
play  with  the  little  fellow. 

"  There,  you  have  had  a  fine  play  now,"  she  said, 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  81 

as  she  heard  foot-steps  approaching.  "  Give  me  one 
kiss,  and  then  I  must  go." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  put  up  his  rosy 
lips  to  kiss  her,  "  my  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  child ;  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  and  —  " 

"  0,  uncle,  uncle !  "  called  the  child,  as  a  gentleman 
appeared  in  sight,  accompanied  by  William  ;  "  I  have 
had  such  a  fine  play !  The  lady  plays  most  as  well  as 
Nina." 

"  Most  as  well  as  Nina  !  My  boy  does  not  under 
stand  complimenting  yet,  Miss  Lundley,"  said  the  gen 
tleman.  "  Why  did  you  not  come  in  with  your  brother 
to  the  house  ?  I  am  afraid  we  have  been  a  long  time 
together." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Edith;  "  these  grounds  have 
been  delightful  to  me." 

"  Bring  her  down  again,  Mr.  Lundley,  and  do  not 
leave  her  in  the  yard,"  said  Mr.  Homer,  as  he  handed 
Edith  into  the  carriage.  "  Come  often ;  the  grays 
have  nothing  better  to  do." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  I  will,  with  pleasure ;  "  and,  tak 
ing  the  reins,  they  trotted  towards  the  city. 

William  was  very  entertaining  all  the  way.  Edith 
had  seldom  known  him  more  so ;  but  she  knew,  by  the 
way  he  drove,  that  he  had  not  heeded  her  advice. 
His  hands  trembled  so  he  could  scarcely  manage  the 
reins,  and  he  almost  locked  wheels  with  eve^y  carriage 
he  met.  Edith  was  not  easily  alarmed,  but  she  kept 
watch  every  moment,  and  was  thankful  when  she 
alighted  at  her  own  door. 


04  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

Not  expecting  any  visitor  in  the  parlor,  she  threw 
open  the  door,  and  walked  in,  untying  her  bonnet  and 
unpinning  her  shawl.  She  started  as  Mr.  Dunlap  rose 
from  the  sofa,  and  approached  her,  saying, 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Lundley.  Finding  you  out, 
and  your  servant  saying  she  expected  you  every  mo 
ment,  I  took  the  liberty  of  waiting  here  for  you." 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Dunlap,"  was  Edith's  civil  an 
swer. 

"  Fine  afternoon  for  a  ride.  I  thought  of  the  same 
thing  myself,  but  was  forestalled." 

"I  have  been  out  with  my  brother." 

"  I  had  hoped  to  meet  you  alone  this  evening,  and 
am  glad  I  am  not  disappointed.  I  wish  to  —  " 

The  door  opened,  and  Susan  announced  callers,  — 
one,  two,  three. 

"  All  over  to-night,"  said  Dunlap  to  himself,  as  he 
soon  after  rose  to  leave.  Edith  rose,  took  the  bundle 
from  the  sofa  which  had  lain  there  since  morning,  and 
handed  it  to  him  in  the  entry. 

"  Never  admit  that  gentleman  to  see  me,  Susan," 
she  said,  as  she  went  up  to  her  room.  "  If  he  calls 
to  see  Mr.  Lundley,  well  and  good :  but  I  am  always 
engaged." 

And  Susan  went  wondering  to  her  rest,  "  how  Miss 
Lundley  could  help  liking  such  a  good-looking  one 
as  he." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

TUE   DEN. 

IT  had  been  raining  hard  all  the  day,  but  just  at 
night  ceased  pouring,  and  settled  into  a  regular  drizzle. 
It  was  as  dark  as  the  state  of  the  weather  could  well 
make  it,  and  uncomfortable  enough  for  one  to  keep 
himself  well  housed,  if  he  were  not  obliged  to  go  out 
of  doors.  The  candle  burned  brightly  in  Deacon 
Lundley's  kitchen,  and  invited  every  one  to  remain  by 
its  friendly  light,  —  an  invitation  which  all  the  family 
willingly  accepted,  save  Ephraim.  He  just  put  his 
face  in  at  the  door  for  a  moment,  saying  "  't  was  an 
excellent  time  for  him,"  asked  the  deacon  "  to  be  sure 
and  leave  the  ecnd  door  ajar,"  and  vanished  from 
sight.  He  could  not  see  an  inch  befpre  him,  but 
went  on  his  way  as  easily  as  if  the  sun  shone  full  upon 
it.  Noiselessly  he  continued  his  solitary  walk,  until 
he  had  approached  the  old  house  which  he  had  visited 
before ;  turning  then,  so  as  to  avoid  another  attack  of 
the  dog,  he  stole  along,  creeping  on  his  hands  and  feet, 
until  he  reached  the  door  which  led  down  into  the  cellar. 
He  pushed  this  open  with  a  slight  touch,  and  descended 
some  stone  steps.  Then  he  drew  the  door  together 
again,  and  groped  his  way  to  the  stairs,  crept  softly 


84  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

up,  passed  the  kitchen  door,  then  up  another  pair  of 
stairs  to  the  room  overhead,  where  he  threw  himself 
down  on  the  floor,  and  put  his  ear  near  a  crack  of  the 
boards,  through  which  he  could  see  down  into  the  room 
below.  Giles  Standish  was  there  alone,  as  yet,  refill 
ing  his  empty  jugs,  and  making  ready  for  his  visitors. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  room  began  to  fill,  and  the 
oaths  to  circulate. 

<l  No  use,"  harangued  a  noble-looking  man  in  the 
corner ;  "no  use,  my  friends.  I  don't  go  for  getting 
drunk,  but  I  go  for  free  rights.  This  liquor-bill 
shan't  go  it  in  this  village,  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  Hurra  !  hurra !  no  license  !  "  screamed  a  dozen 
voices  at  once. 

"  No!  "  continued  the  first  speaker;  "  no  license  ! 
Are  we  men,  and  have  to  be  dealt  with  as  children  ? 
-i—  tied  to  the  law,  as  to  our  mother's  apron-strings  ? " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  go  hard  with  us,"  exclaimed 
another,  whom  Ephraim  recognized  as  Jim  Kelley. 
"  Deacon  Lundley  and  his  tribe,  with  the  parson,  will 
be  too  much  for  us." 

"  Too  much  ?  No,  indeed  !  I  've  a  plan;  I  am  going 
to  fix  them  out  on  voting-day,"  said  a  third. 

"  Take  care  of  the  apron-strings  of  the  law,"  replied 
another. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  I  am  going  to  outwit  the  law  —  " 

"  What  about  our  plan  ? "  inquired  the  one  who 
had  spoken  first. 

"  Yes ;  what  of  that,  —  how  docs  it  come  on,  Jim 
Kelly  ?  " 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  85 

"  First-rate.  I  've  been  hard  at  work  with  five 
young  men  this  fortnight,  and  it  is  the  neatest  little 
hole,  under  ground,  you  ever  saw,  —  all  boarded,  and 
fixed  'cute  enough.  It 's  all  done  now,  but  the  stair 
case  ;  fixed  the  trap-door,  and  covered  it  over  so  that 
the  devil  could  n't  find  it,  if  he  tried,  ^—  much  less 
these  temperance  folks." 

"  I  guess  the  devil  knows  his  own  a  good  sight  bet 
ter  than  you  think  on,"  said  Ephraim  to  himself,  lis 
tening,  however,  with  all  eagerness. 

"  It 's  just  down  Forest  Hill,  an't  it  ?  Left-hand 
side,  close  to  the  big  tree,  hey  ?  "  asked  another 

"  Yes  ;  and,  for  fear  things  should  go  against  us,  we 
will  store  it  well  next  week." 

"  Hurra,  hurra  !  It  won't  touch  us,  if  the  liquor- 
bill  passes." 

"  But  it  shan't  pass,"  joined  in  the  first  speaker. 
"  We  will  all  be  there  voting-day,  and  if  we  should 
slip  in  false  names,  what  harm  ?  We  will  win  our 
game." 

"  Look  out  for  your  mother's  apron-strings !  "  called 
out  a  voice  from  the  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Well,  well ;  we  can  all  be  there,  and  go  in,  in  a 
body,  dead  strong.  We  '11  have  a  jostling  and  a  fight 
for  it,  anyhow.  Can't  old  Parson  Dole's  horse  be  took 
sick  ?  And,  if  the  deacon  loses  a  wagon-wheel  or  a 
chaise-axle,  who  would  cry  ? " 

"  Can't  do  that,  —  deacon  locks  up  a  nights." 

"  Not  often.     I  went  round  last  night  to  see,  and  it 


86  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

warn't  locked  at  all.  I  tell  you,  curses  on  such  as  he, 
• —  they  cut  us  off  from  everything." 

"  The  liquor-bill  shan't  go,  this  time.  I  've  beat 
up  some  recruits  that  nobody  knows  on." 

They  now  commenced  to  lay  their  plans  of  action, 
of  which  Ephraim  heard  every  little  word,  and  stored 
it  in  his  memory.  These  being  settled,  they  fell  to 
refreshing  themselves  with  punch  and-  gin.  Giles 
Standish  was  in  his  element,  and  rolling  in  the  money 
fast.  Jim  Kelly  had  seated  himself  just  below  the 
crack,  where  the  full  light  of  the  candles  shone  upon 
him.  He  was  fast  losing  his  self-control,  and  began 
to  swing  hither  and  thither  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  roll 
ing  in  their  sockets,  and  his  face  reddened. 

Ephraim  crept  slowly  and  cautiously  out  from  the 
chamber,  down  the  stairs  into  the  cellar,  and  out  again 
into  the  street,  where  having  safely  arrived,  he  started 
on  the  full  run  towards  Harriet  Bell's  house.  It  was 
still  early  in  the  evening,  and,  reaching  the  door,  he 
knocked.  Harriet  opened  it,  thinking  it  was  her 
friend,  for  it  was  his  usual  hour  of  visiting. 

"  Why,  Ephraim,  is  it  you  ? "  she  exclaimed ! 
"  come  in,  won't  you  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  Come  ! 
come  in." 

"  No,  thank  you,  — can't  stop ;  but,  if  you  will  just 
step  out  with  me  a  moment,  I  '11  show  you  a  sight. 
Your  own  eyes  will  see  him,  miss ;  he  is  as  drunk  as  a 
beast." 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Harriet.  "  Why,  man,  you  're 
mad." 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  87 

"No,  thank  you,  I  an't.  Giles  Standish 's  got  a 
party  yonder,  and  Jiin  's  among  them.  Come  and 
see." 

Harriet  did  not  scruple  to  trust  herself  with  honest 
Ephraim ;  so,  throwing  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  she 
went  out  with  him  into  the  darkness,  and  hurried  on 
until  they  reached  the  house. 

"  Softly  as  a  mouse,"  he  said,  as  they  entered  the 
low  door,  "  softly  —  Blazers !  "  This  ejaculation 
escaped  him  when  he  perceived,  at  the  further  end 
of  the  cellar,  the  figure  of  a,  man  stooping  to  draw 
something  from  one  of  the  barrels.  He  was  so  intent 
upon  his  business  that  he  did  not  perceive  Ephraim, 
who  pushed  Harriet  back  into  the  yard,  and  waited 
until  he  had  passed  up  the  stairs.  This  he  soon  did, 
passing  so  near  that  Ephraim  would  have  been  seen 
had  not  a  gust  of  wind  at  that  moment  extinguished 
the  candle.  After  he  was  fairly  up,  they  entered,  and 
crept  softly  up  the  stairs. 

Ephraim  pointed  to  the  crack  in  the  boards,  and 
Harriet  bent  down  to  look.  Jim  Kelly  remained  just 
there,  only  he  had  fallen  from  his  chair,  and  was  now 
struggling  in  vain  to  rise. 

"  0,  ha,  ha  !  "  screamed  a  man ;  "  see  Jim  Kelly  ! 
Here 's  another  glass  for  him !  —  help  him  to  lie  still ! 
—  here ! " 

Jim  seized  it,  and  drank  the  whole. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  how  could  they  ?  "  groaned  Har 
riet.  "  I  must  speak  to  him." 


DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  Speak !  "  whispered  Ephraim,  "  it  would  be  death 
to  you,  for  all  that  I  know.  Look  at  him !  " 

"  I  do  not  want  to  see  more.  Take  me  home, 
Ephraim,  —  come ;  "  and  she  turned  and  went  down  the 
stairs.  She  did  not  utter  a  syllable  all  the  way  home, 
but  wept,  wept,  like  a  widowed  mother. 

"  Ephraim,"  she  said,  as  she  went  in,  "  it  is  hard, 
but  I  thank  you." 

Thus  Ephraim  left  her,  and  returned  to  the  revel. 

He  had  prepared,  the  day  before,  a  figure  mounted 
with  a  Jack-o'-lantern  for  its  head,  in  which  burned  a 
lighted  candle,  disclosing  two  large  ram's  horns  pro 
truding  from  the  sides.  Ephraim  called  it  the  "  Old 
Harry."  This  he  had  concealed  in  the  room  for  the 
purpose  of  lowering  it  from  the  window  by  means  of  a 
rope,  and  swinging  it  so  that  it  might  knock  on  the  win 
dow  below.  This  he  effected  after  the  party  were  well- 
nigh  all  intoxicated.  The  dog  commenced  an  awful 
howling,  leaping  up  and  trying  to  break  his  chain. 
(Giles  Standish  kept  him  chained,  evenings.)  Giles, 
who  was  the  only  sober  one,  looked  up,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  grinning  figure. 

" •  !  "  he  exclaimed,  dropping  the  glass  from 

his  hands.  "  Men !  —  look  !  Hear  him  knock  !  "  and 
his  face  became  purple  with  fear. 

"  It 's  the  devil !  "  exclaimed  many  voices  at  once. 
"  Help  !  help  !  help  !  "  —  and,  from  the  din  which  fol 
lowed,  one  might  have  supposed  they  were  not  far 
wrong. 

Some,  who  had  sufficient  sense,  seized  their  hats, 


DURHAM    VILLAGE. 


89 


and  bolted  out  of  the  opposite  window;  some  tried, 
ineffectually,  to  rise,  and  lay  groaning  on  the  floor ; 
while  honest  Ephraim  made  the  best  of  his  way  home, 
exclaiming, 

"  What  fools  rum  makes  of  folks  !     Blazers !  " 
ft* 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE   LOST   FOUND. 

EDITH  had  grown  more  and  more  interested  in  the 
invalid,  and  the  sick  woman  became  more  and  more 
attached  to  Edith.  The  fever  had  run  long  and 
violently,  but  the  danger  was  now  over,  and  the  pa 
tient  able  to  sit  up  most  of  the  day.  Mr.  Henley  had 
not  deemed  it  proper  to  unravel  what  he  knew  of  the 
sufferer's  history,  and  to  Edith  it  yet  remained  a  mys 
tery. 

Seated  with  her  one  afternoon,  Edith  inadvertently 
mentioned  Mr.  Dunlap's  name,  —  a  name  which  she 
had  imagined  was  painful  to  the  listener,  —  and  then 
stopped,  evidently  sorry  for  her  allusion. 

"  Mr.  Dunlap's  name  is  nothing  to  me,"  replied  the 
invalid,  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "  I  know  him  by  no  such 
title." 

"  0,"  said  Edith,  « I  did  not  mean  to  speak  of 
him." 

"  Your  kindness  to  me  deserves  my  confidence, "she 
answered,  "  and  I  cannot  keep  you  longer  ignorant. 
My  home  was  in  the  country,  seven  years  ago.  I  was 
then  sixteen,  —  young,  innocent  and  foolish.  He 
came  down,  —  that  is,  Mr.  Dunlap,  as  you  call  him, 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  91 

Mr.  Roberts,  as  I  knew  him,  —  to  hunt  and  spend  a 
summer  in  our  neighborhood.  We  loved,  and  were 
married.  I  moved  to  a  city  far  from  here,  and  re 
sided  with  him.  Our  life,  for  a  year,  was  too  happy. 
I  went  with  him  into  the  gay  world,  and  tasted  of  its 
sweets.  0,  I  tasted  and  became  enamored  with  its 
poisons  !  Wine  was  my  delight,  and  I  took  freely,  as 
he  supplied  freely.  Then  my  boy  was  born,  —  0,  my 
boy  !  my  darling !  He  was  just  three  months  old 
when  Mr.  Roberts  was  called  abroad.  It  was  not  best 
for  me  to  go,  with  my  babe,  and  I  did  not  wish  to.  I 
remained  behind.  It  is  a  sad,  sad  story.  By  degrees 
I  become  so  infatuated  with  wine  that  I  lost  all  self- 
control.  I  drank  by  day,  lay  on  my  bed  and  drank ; 
yet  my  boy  was  ever  my  idol.  I  remember,  one  day, 
my  uncle's  calling  to  see  me  when  I  could  but  just 
walk  straight,  in  the  parlor.  He  saw  it,  and  felt  it. 
For  months  did  he  expostulate  with  me,  and  at  last 
told  me  my  boy  was  not  safe  with  me  —  he  must  write 
to  my  husband.  0  !  he  knew  not  to  whom  he  was 
writing,  and  what  an  agony  of  woe  he  was  bringing 
upon  me. 

"One  day  —  ah!  that  day!  —  there  came  a  gen 
tleman  to  my  house.  I  was  not  sober,  I  was  bewil 
dered  with  wine;  but  I  do  remember  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Roberts  which  he  brought.  He  said  he  was 
his  friend,  and  was  authorized  to  take  the  child; 
there  was  no  safety  for  him  with  me.  My  uncle  had 
written  to  my  husband,  had  received  this  answer,  and 
had  sent  it  to  him.  His  duty  was  plain ;  the  child 


92  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

must  go  with  him.  I  rose,  left  the  room,  took  more 
wine,  and  returned.  I  seated  myself  upon  the  sofa, 
but  can  remember  no  more !  —  Remember  more  ?  yes, 
I  do  !  —  I  feel  those  little  arms  around  my  neck;  I 
feel  the  pressure  of  those  rosy  lips ;  I  hear  that  cry ; 
but  my  boy  was  gone,  whither  I  knew  not.  I  have 
sought  him  for  five  years,  and  cannot  find  him.  Rob 
erts  returned ;  I  met  him  while  searching  for  my  boy, 
in  this  city.  He  gave  me  such  a  curse  as  I  never 
heard  before  !  Since  that  hour,  one  year  ago,  I  have 
left  my  wine.  Mr.  Henley  —  God  bless  him !  —  met 
me  once  in  an  hour  of  extremity.  I  told  him  my  his 
tory.  He  forces  Roberts  to  give  me  some  support, 
and  promises  that  one  day  I  shall  see  my  child.  And 
thus  I  live.  Alas  for  my  boy !  without  him  there  is 
no  to-morrow  !  "  and  she  began  to  rock  back  and  forth 
in  her  chair. 

Edith  was  alarmed  for  the  result,  but,  laying  her 
hand  on  the  invalid's  head,  soothed  her  throbbing  tem 
ples,  and  calmed  her  with  words  of  sympathy. 

"  Mr.  Henley  never  promises  that  which  he  cannot 
fulfil." 

"  It  is  just  —  I  deserve  it !  but  does  not  he  deserve 
still  more  ? " 

"  His  time  will  come." 

"  And  my  revenge  !  "  she  cried,  convulsively. 

"  Have  you  no  parents  ?  Why  not  go  to  them  ?  " 

"  I  would,  if  I  could ;  but  they  are  dead." 

"  Trust  us,  then,"  said  Edith ;  and  she  blushed  to 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  93 

find  slio  had  unconsciously  linked  her  name  with  Mr. 
Henley's. 

"Yes,  trust  us"  echoed  a  voice,  and,  tapping 
gently,  Mr.  Henley  entered  the  half-open  door. 

"  Any  traces  yet  ?  "  inquired  the  invalid,  earnestly, 
as  Mr.  Henley  seated  himself  by  her. 

"  None  yet ;  but  I  hope  still." 

"Hope!  0,  I  have  hoped  until  hope  has  died — 
burned  out ! " 

"  Still  hope,  and  wait," 

Mr.  Henley  had  never  seen  Edith  more  beautiful 
than  at  that  moment,  he  could  not  tell  why.  As  she 
rose  to  go,  he  accompanied  her  down  the  stairs. 

"Mr.  Henley,"  she  said,  the  moment  they  were 
alone,  "  I  know  the  story  now,  and  I  think  I  know 
where  the  boy  is." 

"The  boy?  —  where?" 

And  Edith  told  him  of  the  little  child  who  had 
played  so  pleasantly  with  her  in  the  garden. 

"  I  think  it  must  be,"  she  continued,  "  for  he  resem 
bles  her  so  strongly." 

When  they  reached  the  door  of  No.  22,  Mr.  Henley 
declined  Edith's  invitation  to  go  in,  but,  turning,  walked 
quickly  to  a  livery-stable,  took  a  carriage,  and  was 
soon  on  his  way  to  the  country. 

Never  did  driver  appear  to  take  time  more  leisurely 
than  the  one  who  now,  according  to  Mr.  Henley's  di 
rection,  turned  his  horses  from  the  crowded  streets  of 
the  city,  into  the  broad  road  which  led  out  into  the 
country ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  hours  were  passed 


94  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

in  walking,  when  he  might  have  been  carried  speedily 
on.  But  he  leaned  back,  and  determined  to  take  it 
more  easily,  being  conscious  he  was  impatient,  and 
that,  therefore,  time  itself  seemed  to  tarry. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  hours,  however,  he  found 
himself  riding  up  through  the  avenue,  and  ere  long 
stopped  at  the  door  of  the  country-residence  whose 
beauty  had  so  won  Edith's  admiration  when  she  visited 
it  with  her  brother.  The  moon  had  just  risen,  and  was 
lighting  the  trees  and  the  flowers  with  her  softest 
radiance,  touching  with  magic  fingers  the  drops  of 
dew  which  glistened  in  her  light.  But  Mr.  Henley 
had  no  eye  for  her  beauty  now.  His  errand  so  en 
grossed  his  heart,  that  he  sprang  from  the  carriage  to 
the  steps,  and  touched  the  bell,  without  a  look  even 
at  the  tall  acacia  which  temptingly  waved  its  blos 
soms  close  beside  him.  The  ring  was  answered  imme 
diately,  and  he  was  ushered  into  the  library. 

"  Mr.  Homer  will  be  in ;  he  is  engaged  just  now. 
Please  take  a  seat,  sir ;  "  said  the  servant,  and  with 
drew. 

Mr.  Henley  seated  himself  by  the  table,  and,  opening 
a  book,  commenced  to  read.  Soon  he  heard  the  rus 
tling  of  a  curtain  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and,  turning, 
perceived  a  child's  face  peeping  from  beneath  its  folds. 

"  I  thought  it  was  uncle,"  ho  said,  as  he  saw  Mr. 
Henley  had  noticed  him.  "  Dago  and  I  often  come 
in  at  this  window ;  it  reaches  down  to  the  piazza ;  — 
come,  Dago,  "and,  in  answer  to  a  low  whistle,  the 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  95 

beautiful  creature  bounded  in  after  his  master,  and 
both  passed  on  as  if  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Henley,  putting 
out  his  hand  towards  him.  "  I  love  little  children, 
but  I  do  not  see  many  of  them  now ;  when  I  was  at 
home,  I  had  just  such  a  little  nephew  as  you,  and  he 
used  to  climb  upon  my  knee,  and  I  would  tell  him 
stories." 

"  Had  you  a  mother  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  turning  an 
inquiring  glance  towards  him,  like  that  with  which  the 
sick  woman  ever  greeted  him,  —  save  that  one  was 
that  of  a  child. 

"  0,  yes ;  have  not  you  ?  " 

"  Uncle  says  he  hopes  I  shall  have.  She  has  gone 
away  now.  I  should  love  her ;  should  not  I  ?  Don't 
you  love  your  mother  ?  " 

At  this  monent  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Homer 
entered. 

"  Excuse  my  keeping  you  in  waiting  so  long,  sir," 
he  said,  as  he  advanced  to  meet  Mr.  Henley,  "  but  I 
was  very  much  engaged.  I  see,  however,  you  have 
not  been  alone,"  he  added,  as  the  child  darted  forward 
to  take  his  hand. 

"  Not  alone,  to  be  sure,  sir ;  I  have  enjoyed  talking 
with  him." 

"  I  think  we  will  excuse  him  now.  Here,  Arthur ; 
Dago  and  you  go  into  the  parlor.  Nina  is  there,  and 
you  will  have  a  grand  play." 

"  Has  Nina  come  ?"  and  the  boy  bounded  away, 
and  Dago  after  him. 


96  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  That  is  a  beautiful  child !  "  continued  Mr.  Henley, 
as  he  closed  the  door. 

"  Yes  ;  and  a  noble  child  —  poor  thing  !  " 

"  My  business  concerns  him,  sir." 

Mr.  Homer  started. 

"  How  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  He  has  a  mother  living." 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?  This  little  fellow's  life  makes 
a  strange  story.  He  has  been  tossed  about,  almost 
like  a  feather,  but  for  the  last  two  years  has  found  a 
home  with  me.  In  the  course  of  my  business,  which 
is  the  law,  I  was  called  to  a  gentleman  who  had 
become  very  much  involved  by  the  treachery  of  a 
nephew.  I  was  employed  by  him  in  his  last  sickness, 
and  then  he  told  me  there  was  a  child  of  this  nephew's, 
for  whom  he  felt  a  great  interest,  and  wished  him  re 
moved  from  the  place  where  he  then  was,  the  gentle 
man  having  proved  unworthy  of  his  trust.  Then  he 
told  me  the  child's  history,  and  made  me  promise,  if 
the  mother  ever  returned  a  sober  woman,  to  give  the 
boy  up  to  her.  I  shall  never  forget  him,  as  he  raised 
himself  from  his  pillow,  and,  with  the  strength  only  of 
a  dying  person,  exclaimed,  'And  she  will  return.  I 
feel  it.  Never  mother  loved  more  than  she,  and  her 
child  will  yet  save  her ;  she  will  return  !  '  " 

"  And  she  has  returned,"  said  Mr.  Henley. 

"  I  must  have  proof,  sir." 

"  Proof  you  can  have.  Here,  sir;  a  more  exact 
likeness  I  never  saw;  "  and  he  handed  him  an  ivory 
painting. 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  97 

The  dimples  in  the  cheek  were  the  same  ;  the  same 
soft  blue  eye,  —  the  same  white,  high  forehead.  Mr. 
Homer  acknowledged  the  similarity,  but  still  seemed 
determined  to  ask  for  more  proof. 

"  What  is  the  name,  sir,  of  the  child  ?  " 

"  Arthur  Roberts." 

"  Yes;  that  is  so." 

"  Here,  too,  is  another  proof,  if  you  wish  it.  The 
child  bears  on  his  right  arm  the  stamp  of  this  ring," 
and  he  handed  it  to  Mr.  Homer. 

"  It  is  so.  I  am  satisfied  that  the  child  is  the  same ; 
but,  excuse  me,  how  am  I  sure  that  the  father  has  not 
sent  you?  My  client  told  me  he  had  papers  of  Rob 
erts,  giving  him  the  child.  He  paid  him  a  large  sum 
for  the  boy,  and  he  sold  him  to  him.  I  have  legal 
papers  to  this  effect." 

"  And  I  here  present  the  duplicate."  So  saying, 
Mr.  Henley  drew  from  his  wallet  the  papers,  and  gave 
them  to  Mr.  Homer. 

"  But,  may  I  ask,  how  you  obtained  these  ?  " 

"  From  Roberts." 

"  Then  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  obtained  these  papers  thus.  I  was 
led  to  the  mother  by  a  strange  incident.  She  told  me 
her  story.  I  boarded  with  Roberts.  I  visited  him 
the  evening  after  I  had  heard  her  narrative.  He  was 
half-intoxicated,  and  seemed  bewildered  by  the  charge, 
but  I  forced  him  to  the  truth.  I  told  him  he  should 
support  them,  or  I  would  bring  the  law  to  act  upon 
him.  He  then  affirmed  he  would  never  pay  for  the 
9 


98  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

child,  —  he  had  sold  him ;  and,  to  prove  this,  showed 
me  the  papers.  I  took  them  from  him.  Had  he  been 
fully  himself,  he  would  never  have  allowed  me  to  re 
tain  them ;  but  I  kept  the  papers.  You  know  what 
is  in  them.  They  prove  his  marriage,  the  birth  of  the 
child,  and  the  parting  with  him  -for  money.  All  three 
of  these  acts  he  would  gladly  disown,  but  knows  he 
cannot,  as  the  proof  lies  with  me.  I  could  never  find 
by  them  this  uncle's  residence,  and  have,  until  now, 
been  in  the  dark  as  respects  the  child.  He  has  tried 
in  every  way  to  possess  again  these  writings,  that  he 
may  destroy  them ;  but  I  have  them,  sir.  Are  you 
satisfied  ? " 

"  Yes,  in  respect  to  the  child ;  but  as  to  the  mother  ? 
I  cannot  relinquish  my  trust  until  it  is  proved  that  she 
is  worthy  of  it." 

"  Of  that  I  can  give  you  no  other  proof  than  my 
word.  She  is  an  inmate  of  a  family  in  which  I  am  a 
constant  visitor,  and  I  can  give  you  my  word  of  honor 
that  she  has  again  become  competent  to  the  charge. 
If  not,  I  will  inform  you." 

"  You  are  too  well  known,  as  a  man  of  honor  and 
integrity,  for  me  to  hesitate.  I  will  therefore  intrust 
the  child  to  your  keeping.  When  and  where  do  you 
wish  to  take  him  ?  It  is  hard  for  me  to  part  with  him, 
I  frankly  confess." 

"  Not  at  present,  sir ;  I  will  consult  with  you  as  to 
arrangements,  some  time  next  week.  I  have  one  in 
quiry  respecting  Mr.  Roberts.  I  found  that  he  had 
given  me  a  paper  relating  to  some  business  affair, 


DUKIIAM    VILLAGE.  09 

which  proves  him  dishonest.  The  note  was  drawn 
upon  Henry  Fairfield.  Was  that  his  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  need  that  very  note  to  settle  the 
estate.  He  defrauded  his  uncle,  and  must  answer 
for  it." 

Arthur  now  opened  the  door,  softly. 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  go  to  bed,  uncle ;  shall  I  kiss 
you?" 

"Yes,  come,  child ;  "  and  the  little  fellow  came  and 
clung  around  his  neck  with  fondness.  As  he  went 
back,  the  tears  stood  in  Mr.  Homer's  eyes. 

Mr.  Henley's  object  was  accomplished,  and  he  bade 
the  lawyer  good-evening. 

The  horses  trotted  briskly,  and  when  the  hour  of 
midnight  rang  through  the  city,  Mr.  Henley  was  again 
at  the  "  Globe." 


CHAPTER    XV. 

TILE    COUNTRY   SEAT. 

EDITH  watched  for  Mr.  Henley  all  that  evening. 
She  had  expected  he  would  return  there,  but  as  eleven 
o'clock  struck  from  the  "  old  city  bell,"  she  gave  up 
her  hopes  of  his  visit,  took  her  light,  and  went  up  to 
her  room. 

Her  efforts  had  all  been  ineffectual  to  keep  William 
from  his  wine.  She  could  hear  him  in  his  room  now, 
mixing  his  evening  beverage,  and  determined  once 
more  to  argue  with  him.  Knocking  at  the  closet-door, 
he  bade  her  come  in,  and  she  entered. 

"  What 's  wanted,  Dithie  —  hey  ?  It  is  high  time 
such  as  you  were  sleeping.  Why,  half  the  night  is 
gone  at  the  farm  !  " 

"  William,"  she  said,  "  I  have  come  in  to  ask  you  if 
I  might  give  a  sick  lady  room  here  for  a  while ;  she  is 
needy." 

He  set  down  the  glass  which  he  held  in  his  hand, 
with  its  contents  untasted,  and  heard  Edith's  simple 
narrative  of  the  facts. 

"  And  that  is  Dunlap's  history,  wretched  man !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  I  will  help  her  on.  Come  here  ? 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  101 

That  she  may ;  and  I  '11  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
him.  These*are  his  doings,  are  they  ? " 

"  Not  his  alone,  but  ivine's,"  replied  Edith.  "  O, 
brother,  do  not  take  this,  to-night.  Think  of  Dunlap,. 
and  think  of  home." 

"  No  danger  of  me,  Dithie ;  I  'm  a  strong  man, 
heart  and  head." 

"  Many  have  fallen,  as  good  as  you,"  she  added, 
as  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Do  not  take  it." 

He  moved  slowly  to  the  window,  opened  it,  and 
threw  the  brandy  out.  Edith  retired  to  her  room  in 
jine  spirits.  Hope,  angel  hope,  for  a  moment  hovered 
with  his  shining  wing  over  her,  but  hastened  away,  — 
for  the  lifting  of  the  wine-cup  was  heard  from  the  ad 
joining  room,  and  sorrow  came  with  it. 

Edith  could  not  sleep,  and  lay  restless  upon  her  bed. 
She  thought  she  heard  a  noise  below ;  she  listened. 
The  noise  continued.  It  seemed  like  some  one  steal 
ing  up  the  stairs.  She  sprang  to  her  door,  and,  as  she 
did  so,  she  distinctly  heard  the  handle  turn.  She  fled 
through  the  closet,  to  see  if  William  were  sleeping,  and 
if  his  door  were  fastened.  It  was  not.  and  she  had 
just  time  to  turn  the  key,  when  that  door  was  tried, 
also.  William  was  sleeping  a  hard,  beast-like  sleep, 
and  she  knew  there  was  no  safety  in  waking  him;  he 
could  be  no  protection,  and  she  would  let  him  sleep 
on.  It  so  happened  that  the  doors  were  supplied  with 
a  bolt,  as  well  as  a  lock  and  key,  and  she  fastened  both. 
Soon  she  heard  a  rattling  as  of  a  bunch  of  keys ;  then 
she  heard  her  own  lock  spring  back,  and  the  latch 


102    '  DURHAM  VILLAGE. 

raised.  Fast  and  firm,  it  did  not  yield  to  the  pressure 
without.  William's  door  was  tried  'in  the  same 
manner.  She  then  heard  the  footsteps  descend  the 
stairs,  and  the  front-door  open.  She  looked  out  of 
the  window,  and  could  distinguish  the  figure  of  a  man 
walking  up  the  street.  He  did  not  hurry  at  all,  but 
walked  leisurely  along.  At  this  moment  the  watchman 
came  under  the  window,  and  Edith  raised  it.  He 
stopped,  and  looked  up. 

"  Yonder,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  "  goes  a  house 
breaker.  He  has  been  in  here  ;  whether  he  has  taken 
anything  or  not,  I  do  not  know ;  but  that  is  he." 

The  watchman  quickened  his  pace,  but  the  man 
walked  on  just  as  slowly. 

"  Stop  !  "  demanded  the  watchman. 

The  man  obeyed  without  hesitation,  turned,  and 
asked  what  he  wanted. 

"  Excuse  me,"  Edith  heard  the  watchman  say,  "  I 
mistook  you.  Yonder  must  be  the  man,"  and  he 
started  in  pursuit  of  another  figure,  which  seemed  to 
be  hurrying  on.  Presently  two  others  joined  him ; 
the  watchman  sprang  his  rattle,  and  gave  chase,  while 
Dunlap  (for  it  was  he)  turned  the  corner  of  the  street 
and  went  up  into  his  rooms. 

The  excitement  of  this  event,  and  the  growing  in 
security  Edith  felt  in  her  brother's  protection,  made 
her  ready  to  listen  to  William's  plans  for  the  speedy 
removal  of  Mrs,  Roberts  to  his  home.  Here  William 
showed  his  true  nature.  Energetic,  liberal  and  earn 
est,  he  entered  into  this  work  with  a  full  soul  and, 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  103 

before  evening  approached,  the  invalid  had  'been  re 
moved.  William  was  particularly  pleased  with  her 
winning  gentleness  and  dignity. 

Mrs.  Roberts  had  been  with  them  a  fortnight,  and 
had  gained  in  health  and  spirits.  Mr.  Henley  was 
silent  as  to  the  success  of  his  ride,  and  Mrs.  Roberts 
did  not  wish  to  tax  him  with  too  many  inquiries, 
although  the  earnest  face  with  which  she  ever  greeted 
him  spoke  for  itself. 

He  had  just  entered  the  parlor,  and  been  cordially 
received  by  all. 

"  Mr.  Lundley,"  he  said,  after  a  few  moments'  chat 
with  the  ladies,  "  I  want  to  drive  your  grays  into  the 
country,  to-day ;  they  have  stood  too  long ;  they  will 
be  lazy." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  William.  "  It  !s  an  excellent 
thought ;  who  goes  with  you  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Roberts  and  your  sister,  I  think,"  he  replied, 
looking  towards  them.  "  Will  you  not  go,  Mrs. 
Roberts  ? " 

"  It  will  give  me  much  pleasure." 

"  And  Miss  Lundley,  of  course  ?  "  he  asked. 

Edith  had  yet  a  spice  of  her  old  pride  about  her, 
and  she  said,  half-earnestly,  half-playfully, 

"  Of  course  I  think  I  cannot  go,  —  on  a  second 
hand  invitation,  too !  " 

Mr.  Henley  turned  to  her  with  a  look  of  astonish 
ment. 

"  I  shall  be  here  in  a  few  moments.  I  trust  the 
ladies  will  be  ready ;  "  and,  bowing,  he  withdrew. 


104  DURHAM  TILLAGE. 

This  off-hand  manner  of  treating  her  was  not  agree 
able  to  Edith.  She  had  really  half  a  mind  not  to  go, 
but  she  could  not  persuade  herself  to  stay;  so  she  rose, 
put  on  her  things,  and,  when  Mr.  Henley  drove  to  the 
door,  received  him  with  a  pleasant  smile,  and  stepped 
into  the  carriage. 

"  There  is  quite  a  temperance  movement  in  our  city," 
he  said,  as  they  left  the  thriving  business  world  behind 
them ;  "  I  hope  it  will  succeed." 

"  What  are  they  doing  ?  "  inquired  Edith. 

"  Hunting  out  the  rum-shops,  beer-cellars,  and  the 
like.  It  is  astonishing  what  horrid  places  they  have 
found." 

"  Who  is  at  the  head  of  the  movement  ? "  inquired 
Mrs.  Roberts. 

"  Many  good  people,"  replied  Mr.  Henley,  too  mod 
est  to  admit  that  the  weight  of  his  influence,  —  edu 
cated,  polished,  wealthy  as  he  was,  —  had  gone  very 
far  in  rousing  the  people.  "  Many  good  friends ;  they 
mean  to  hunt  out  the  « beast,'  and  give  a  description 
of  his  places  of  resort  to  the  Legislature.  We  ca-nnot 
make  the  laws,  but  we  can  bring  facts  which  shall 
cause  others  to  make  them,  and,  once  made,  we  can  see 
them  enforced.  It  is  not  only  in  the  squalid  lanes  and 
low  streets  that  we  mean  to  work.  There  is  many  a 
polished  home,  and  many  a  tapestried  room,  which 
must  be  reached.  These  are  the  hardest  to  deal  with. 
Low  life  makes  cowards,  but  in  our  upper  circles  men 
are  men,  and  we  have  to  deal  with  them  as  such.  It 


DURHAM  TILLAGE.  105 

is  a  difficult  thing  to  go  in  among  educated  people,  and 
accuse  them  of  intoxication.  The  law  must  help  us." 

"  How  many  hearts  will  bless  the  law ! "  replied 
Edith. 

"  If  we  succeed  in  passing  it,  —  and  may  God  help 
us!'1 

Mr.  Henley  now  turned  the  horses  into  an  avenue 
which  led  up  to  a  large  country-seat,  and  Edith  marked 
that  it  adjoined  the  house  to  which  her  brother  had 
driven  her  when  she  rode  with  him  to  the  country. 

"  I  have  been  purchasing  a  country-seat,"  said  Mr. 
Henley,  as  he  approached  the  house,  "  and  have  taken 
you  ladies  here  to  see  if  you  think  it  as  pleasant  as  I 
do,"  and  he  drew  the  horses  in  as  they  reached  the 
door. 

Alighting  from  the  carriage,  they  walked  up  a  flight 
of  stone  steps,  and  were  ushered  into  the  elegant  parlor. 

Edith  was  captivated  with  a  view  from  a  bow-win 
dow  which  looked  out  over  a  lawn,  into  the  garden  of 
the  next  neighbor,  and  she  stood  long  gazing  upon  the 
rich  parterre  before  her. 

"  It  seems  that  we  shall  have  near  neighbors,  Miss 
Edith,"  said  Mr.  Henley,  as  he  approached  her. 

"  It  is  very  beautiful,  Mr.  Henley.  How  much  you 
will  enjoy  here  !  But  look !  0,  Mrs.  Roberts,  do 
come  here  and  look !  See  how  that  child  has  trimmed 
his  hat  and  dog  with  flowers  !  " 

Mrs.  Koberts  went  to  the  window.  Down  in  the 
lawn  she  could  see  a  little  boy  sitting  on  the  grass, 
with  flowers  scattered  all  around,  while  his  own 


106  DURHAM  VILLAGE. 

hat  was  gorgeous  with  its  trimmings.  The  dog,  too, 
was  wreathed  with  them,  and  the  child's  tiny  fingers 
were  now  forming  another  wreath  for  his  pet.  Hav 
ing  finished  it,  he  threw  it  over  the  neck  of  the  willing 
animal,  then  jumped  up,  and  ran  frolicking  towards 
the  house.  She  gazed  long,  steadily,  earnestly;  then, 
without  a  word,  turned  from  the  window,  walked  out 
of  the  door,  slowly  down  towards  the  child. 

He  stopped  his  play,  and  looked  up.  With  a  low 
scream  of  delight,  she  clasped  him  in  her  arms ;  and 
the  child,  too  astonished  to  move,  made  no  resistance. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked,  inquiringly,  as  she  at 
length  released  her  grasp ;  "  my  mother  ?  " 

This  seemed  ever  to  be  that  child's  question.  He 
had  asked  it  in  vain,  for  four  long  years,  of  every 
stranger  lady  who  had  spoken  to  him,  but  now  the 
answer  came  in  such  tones  as  only  a  mother  can  use. 

Mr.  Henley  and  Edith  had  gazed  from  the  window 
in  silence,  but,  as  the  mother  returned  to  the  house 
leading  the  prattling  boy  by  the  hand,  they  met  her  at 
the  door.  She  could  not  speak,  but,  entering  the  par 
lor,  threw  herself,  still  clinging  to  the  child,  on  the 
sofa,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

There  is  something  sacred  even  in  tears  of  joy,  and 
Mr.  Henley,  opening  a  side  door,  beckoned  Edith 
within,  and  left  the  mother  and  child  together. 

Edith  was  full  of  questioning  how  Mr.  Henley  had 
assured  himself  of  the  identity  of  the  child,  to  which 
he  gave  a  willing  answer,  although  it  was  evident  he 
had  something  else  to  say. 


DURHAM    TILLAGE.  107 

"  I  want  you  to  look  here  one  moment,  Miss  Edith," 
he  said,  as  he  opened  a  glass-door  leading  into  a  con 
servatory  ',  "I  want  your  taste  about  this.  I  am  in 
a  little  doubt.  My  gardener  thinks  acacias  preferable, 
but  I  confess  I  have  a  fancy  for  moss-roses ;  which  is 
your  choice  ?  " 

"  0,  the  roses,"  exclaimed  Edith,  immediately  on 
entering.  "  How  very  beautiful !  " 

"  We  shall  often  admire  it,  I  trust,"  and  Mr.  Hen 
ley  lowered  his  voice. 

Edith  knew  not  why,  but  she  wished  herself  back 
with  Mrs.  Roberts,  —  anywhere  rather  than  where  she 
was.  Mr.  Henley  gave  the  glass-door  a  slight  touch ; 
it  closed,  and  they  were  alone  together. 

*  *  *  *  * 

It  was  a  happy  party  that  returned  to  the  city.  The 
boy  went  too,  clinging  first  to  his  mother  and  then  to 
Dago,  who  lay  quietly  upon  the  cushion,  riding  at  his 
ease.  "  We  "  were  happy,  in  thoughtful  silence. 


CHAPTER     XVI. 

FRANK    DOWSER. 

"  IT  is  just  as  I  feared,  Betsey,"  said  "Deacor 
Lundley  to  his  wife,  as  they  sat  on  the  door-steps 
watching  Ephraim  driving  the  cows  home  for  milking. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lundley. 

"  Farmer  Downer's  boy  has  come  back  from  col 
lege." 

"  Come  back !  he  was  not  sent  away,  was  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  suspended.  A  friend  of  his  has  come  back 
with  him  as  a  tutor,  they  say.  His  habits  are  bad, 
and  he  will  not  study." 

"  He  is  a  smart  lad,  though." 

"  Keen  as  a  razor.  There  never  was  a  brighter  boy, 
in  all  Durham,  ihan  he.  Pity,  pity ;  but  that 's  the 
way,  —  talent  don't  protect." 

"  The  last  I  heard  of  him,  he  was  foremost  for  the 
prize." 

"  Yes,  and  would  have  had  it ;  but  he  fell  to  drink 
ing.  They  say  his  tutor,  Mr.  Henshaw,  is  an  excel 
lent  person." 

"  0,  I  am  sorry  for  his  mother,  poor  woman  ! " 
sighed  Betsey,  all  her  woman's  heart  shining  from  her  • 
eyes.     "  I  could  never  bear  such  a  stroke." 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  109 

"  Heaven  shield  you  from  it,  wife !  "  said  the  good 
deacon,  throwing  his  arms  around  her,  as  though  he 
would  shield  her  from  even  imaginary  evil. 

It  was  not  long  before  Julia  became  aware  of  the 
arrival  of  these  young  men  in  the  village.  She  came 
upon  them  unexpectedly,  one  afternoon,  as  she  was 
riding  on  her  errand*  She  did  not  fail  to  notice  how 
changed  young  Downer  was  in  appearance  —  how  old 
he  looked  now,  though  she  knew  him  to  be  scarcely  a 
year  her  senior.  She  was  revolving  these  thoughts  in 
her  mind,  when  he  recognized  her,  and  stepped  up  to 
shake  hands  with  her.  She  drew  in  the  rein,  and 
stopped  Dolly. 

"  Why,  Frank  Downer  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  how 
you  have  changed  !  I  should  scarcely  recognize  you ; 
hard  study  has  left  its  print." 

"Hard  study!  Miss  Julia  compliments  me.  This 
is  Mr.  Henshaw,  Miss  Lundley." 

Mr.  Henshaw  bowed  politely,  and  said,  with  a  smile, 
"I  trust  hard  study  will  soon  leave  another  print 
there." 

"  You  are  in  ill  health,  then  ? "  continued  Julia. 
"  You  look  much,  very  much  —  "  She  stopped;  she 
would  have  said  older,  but,  feeling  a  sensitiveness,  she 
could  scarcely  tell  why,  she  blushed,  and  left  the  sen 
tence  unfinished. 

"  Much  what  ? "  inquired  Frank.  "  Some  awfully 
dubious  compliment,  I  know.  Why,  I  saw  my  image 
reflected  in  the  brook,  yonder,  and  7  thought  I  never 
was  handsomer." 

10 


110  DUKHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  Come,  come,  Master  Frank !  none  of  your  jest 
ing,"  said  Mr.  Henshaw ;  adding,  in  a  low  tone,  "  She 
may  see  deeper  than  you  think  for." 

"  It  will  not  do  to  stop  you  longer,  Julia.  I  shall 
give  myself  the  pleasure  of  a  call  upon  you  before  I 
leave,  and  bring  my  tutor  with  me.  My  home  is  here, 
for  the  present." 

"  Your  home  ?     I  thought  you  were  in  college." 

"  So  I  was,"  he  said;  "but  I  've  had  a  short  bill 
of  absence." 

Julia's  eye  inquired  the  reason,  although  she  for 
bore  to  question.  Simply  stating  that  it  would  givt 
her  great  pleasure  to  see  the  gentlemen,  she  bade  their, 
good-afternoon,  and  Dolly  trotted  on. 

"  She  is  rather  pretty,  though,  Mr.  Henshaw,"  con* 
tinned  Frank,  as  they  kept  on  their  walk  ;  "  but  to< 
good  for  me.  She  is  prime  mover  among  the  young 
women  here  against  intemperance ;  a  real  rante: 
against  wine,  beer  and  ale." 

"  Good  success,  then,  to  her,"  replied  Mr.  Henshaw 
"  I  am  pleased  with  her  face ;  she  looks  intelligent." 

"  That  she  is ;  but  she  has  too  much  influence  fo 
me.  Such  women  grow  vain  as  a  peacock." 

Mr.  Henshaw  walked  on  in  silence.  If  he  ha> 
sought  for  it,  he  could  not  more  fully  have  ascertaine' 
the  strength  of  Julia  Lundley's  character  than  he  di« 
through  the  reports  that  country  gossip  brought  to  hi 
ears,  and  it  was  with  an  undefmable  feeling  of  pleat 
ure  that  he  accepted  Frank's  invitation  to  accompan 
him  to  the  deacon's  farm.  But,  as  ill  luck  would  hav 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  Ill 

it,  Julia  was  not  at  home.  Mr.  Henshaw  had,  how 
ever,  a  delightful  call  on  the  old  lady.  He  had  a  rare 
faculty  of  conversing  with  the  aged,  and  bringing 
forth  from  long  pent-up  memories  treasures  of  the 
past,  and  Grandmother  Baillie  had  more  than  a  usual 
share  of  them. 

As  Mr.  Henshaw  took  his  chair  and  placed  it  by 
her  side,  she  looked  up  with  a  smile,  saying, 

"  I  have  just  dropped  a  stitch  in  my  knitting,  and 
I  tell  you,  sir,  that  when  one  as  old  as  I  lets  drop  a 
stitch  anyway,  it's  not  easy  picking  it  up  again." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  The  days  of  our  years  are  threescore  and  ten, 
and  if  by  reason  of  strength  they  be  fourscore"  she 
replied,  with  a  trembling  emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"  You  are  eighty,  then  ?  " 

She  nodded  her  head,  —  then  added, 

"  Changes  have  come  and  gone,  and  come  and  gone, 
and  will  yet  come  before  I  die  ;  I  trust  so,  at  least." 

"  What  change  do  you  thus  wish  for  ?  " 

"  Change  in  rum-selling,  for  one  thing." 

"  Then  you  are  interested  for  it,  too.  If  the  young 
and  the  old  help  us,  we  shall  gain  our  ground." 

"  The  old,  such  as  I,  cannot  do  much  but  pray  ;  " 
and  she  pointed  upward,  with  a  reverent  faith. 

"  And  they  can  do  that.  If  they  will,  our  cause 
must  be  triumphant." 

"  I  feel  sure  I  shall  not  be  called  home  until  I  see 
a  brighter  day  dawn  on  this  cause ;  for  I  have  earnestly 
prayed  that  I  may  see  it,  and  I  shall." 


112  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  It  seems  to  lie  near  your  heart." 

"  Too  near  !  "  she  said,  with  a  quivering  lip ;  "  too 
near  !  " 

Mr.  Henshaw  saw  there  was  an  arrow  rankling 
there,  and  he  dared  not  probe  further,  but  continued, 

"There  is  a  vigorous  movement  here,  I  under 
stand." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied;  "  and,  when  it  is  accomplished, 
then  '  let  thy  servant  depart  in  peace.'  " 

"  It  strengthens  our  hands  when  such  as  you  pray 
for  us.  We  need  it.  I  was  riding,  a  few  days  since, 
through  a  small  town,  and  saw  a  very  neat  church  on 
the  village  green.  '  This  speaks  well  for  the  people 
here,'  I  said  to  my  driver ;  '  I  love  to  see  the  house 
of  G-od  so  well  cared  for,  —  the  church  newly  painted, 
and  things  so  orderly  about  it.  Who  is  the  minister  ? ' 
—  *  Alas,  sir ! '  he  replied,  « we  have  none.'  — « Have 
none  ? '  I  asked,  with  surprise,  *  what  is  the  reason  ? ' 
*  Why,  sir,  you  see,  the  people  would  have  rum  at  the 
laying  of  the  foundation  of  the  building,  and  the  min 
ister  objected ;  then  they  would  have  it  circulated  at 
the  dedication,  and  the  minister  publicly  denounced  it. 
This  irritated  them  so  much  that  they  refused  to  settle 
him,  and  they  are  waiting  now  until  they  can  find  a 
man  after  their  own  heart,  to  favor  the  curse.'  " 

"The  Lord  preserve  his  fold  from  the  ravening 
wolf,"  replied  Grandmother  Baillie,  eagerly. 

Frank  had  by  this  time  fairly  "talked  out,"  as 
he  afterwards  said  to  his  tutor,  and  maintained  an 
uneasy  silence.  Mr.  Henshaw,  perceiving  this,  short- 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  113 

ened  his  call,  and,  to  Frank's  relief,  they  were  soon  on 
their  way  homeward. 

Near  to  the  barn  they  met  honest  Ephraim.  Mr. 
Henshaw  expressed  to  him  his  delight  in  the  old  lady's 
conversation,  and  added, 

"  There  are  not  many  like  her  left." 

"  There  never  was  another  like  her,  sir,"  replied 
•Ephraim. 

"  But  she  is  old ;  you  cannot  keep  her  much  longer." 

Ephraim  drew  the  sleeve  of  his  coat  across  his  face 
most  lustily,  saying,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  Alas,  sir !  when  she  dies,  the  feather  will  drop 
from  my  cap  !  " 

10* 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

VOTING-DAY. 

A  GRAY  twilight  had  deepened  into  a  dark  night ; 
it  was  the  night  before  voting-day.  Ephraim  had 
taken  kind  care  of  old  Dobbin,  the  parson's  horse,  and 
now  sat  listening  behind  the  hay-stack  for  footsteps. 
Farmer  Lundley's  barn  was  unlocked,  and  the  doors 
of  the  carriage-house  thrown  wide  open.  Even  Trip 
was  called  into  the  back  entry,  and  shut  in.  Every 
thing  seemed  to  favor  the  instigators  of  mischief,  who 
now  made  their  way  over  the  hill,  and  Up  through  the 
lane  to  the  barn. 

"  It 's  better  than  we  had  expected,  Jim,  an't  it  ?  " 
whispered  a  voice  so  near  to  Ephraim  that  he  almost 
started  from  his  hiding-place. 

"  Better  ? — yes ;  we  will  fix  them  soon ;"  and  three 
men  walked  quietly  into  the  carriage-house,  closed  the 
door  behind  them,  opened  their  dark  lantern,  and  went 
to  work.  Ephraim  heard  the  grating  of  the  saws;  he 
heard  one  wheel  after  another  taken  off;  and,  when 
sure  they  were  too  much  engaged  to  be  easily  startled, 
he  crept  round  to  the  door,  afid  threw  softly  across  a 
large  wooden  bar,  which  had  been  placed  on  a  greased 
wheel,  and  fastened  them  snugly  in.  They  kept  on 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  115 

still  at  work,  unmindful  of  their  condition.  Now  and 
then  Ephraim.  could  hear  stifled  sounds  of  laughter,  as 
piece  after  piece  of  the  wagon  came  off.  He  heard 
them  pass  through  the  inner  door  to  the  stable ;  but 
the  horses  were  not  there.  -Then,  their  work  being 
finished,  some  one  placed  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the 
door,  and  pushed. 

"  Jim,"  said  a  voice,  "  come  help  me  push  this  open ; 
the  door  shuts  tight." 

Ephraim  heard  them,  one  by  one,  as  they  came  to 
the  door.  He  knew  that  they  were  all  with-  main 
strength  at  work  at  it.  They  then  went  round  to  the 
next  door.  That,  also,  firmly  resisted. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  said  one  ;  "  I  believe  it 's  locked 
on  the  outside." 

"All  right,  my  friends!"  sung  out  Ephraim; 
"  snug  as  a  njpuse  !  ha,  Ha,  ha !  You  don't  get  out 
of  this  to-night ;  so  ye  can  go  to  sleep  on  the  hay 
loft  ;  "  and  he  turned  towards  the  house. 

Hours  afterwards,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  sounds 
of  knockings  and  scufflings  echoed  through  the  farm 
house.  They  even  besieged  honest  Ephraim's  bed, 
and  awakened  him ;  but  he  only  stretched  himself 
leisurely,  yawned,  and  was  again  soon  asleep. 

Morning  came,  and  with  it  a  day  of  great  excite 
ment  in  the  village.  The  polls  were  open  from  eight 
until  four,  and  the  common  was  lined  with  people.  A 
jostling,  roistering,  bustling  gang  stood  upon  the  one 
side,  and,  at  the  coming  of  every  fresh  recruit,  filled 
the  air  with  shouts  and  hurrahs.  Where  such  a  body 


116  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

of  men,  —  so  poorly  clad,  —  could  have  come  from, 
was  a  matter  of  wonder  to  the  more  sober  and  orderly 
people,  who  kept  company  together.  It  was  evident 
that  a  hard  contest  must  ensue.  Every  known  tem 
perance  man  had  to  make  his  way  through  a  densely 
compacted  mass,  which  never  moved  nor  made  way  for 
him  one  inch.  Every  voter  for  liquor  passed  on  with 
out  annoyance,  or  rather  was  carried  up,  as  on  an  easy 
wave.  At  four  the  polls  closed,  and  the  crowd  was 
hushed  to  silence. 

"A  majority  in  favor  of  the  liquor-bill  of  seventy- 
five  ;  yeas,  420,  —  nays,  345 !  "  thundered  a  voice 
from  the  tent. 

Shouts  and  groans  filled  the  air.  The  battle  had 
been  fought,  and  the  cause  of  temperance  was  tri 
umphant  ! 

"  Work  for  us  to  do  to-night,  my  meV  said  Stand- 
ish,  as  he  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  group  of  twelve. 
"  The  devil  take  it,  if  Ephraim  catches  sight  of  any 
of  us.  He  is  no  drone,  and  will  be  on  us  if  we  are 
not  quick." 

"  We  will  meet,  then,  at  half-past  eight,"  whispered 
a  near  voice. 

"  I'll  be  ready,"  —  and  the  group  separated. 

"  This  is  what  right  earnest  work  can  accomplish, 
Deacon  Lundley,"  said  Parson  Dole.  "  No  one  need 
ever  despair.  Now  we  can  work,  and  now  we  will." 

"  Now,  I  say,  —  for 't !  "  exclaimed  Ephraim,  as  the 
announcement  of  victory  reached  his  ears.  "  I  guess 
I  '11  carry  that  news  myself  to  them  ere  fellers  in  the 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  117 

barn,  if  they  are  there  still ;  they  must  be  kind  of 
impatient  to  hear,  by  this  time ;  "  and,  springing  upon 
his  horse,  he  galloped  to  the  farm. 

As  he  approached  the  premises,  he  could  not  hear 
the  slightest  noise,  excepting  the  low  growl  of  the  dog, 
who  was  still  on  guard ;  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  he 
was  not  a  little  thankful  that  the  rogues  had  not  es 
caped.  But  he  reckoned  too  soon,  for,  as  he  came  up 
to  the  carriage-house,  he  saw  that  an  opening  had  been 
made  through  the  boards  large  enough  to  admit  of 
any  one's  exit,  and  he  felt  sure  that  saws  and  hatchets 
had  not  lain  idle. 

"  They  had  a  sweat  on 't,  anyhow.  Well,  I  don't 
know  as  I  feel  over  anxious  to  find  them  out,  'cause  I 
should  feel  kind  of  wrong  like  towards  them.  But  I 
should  just  like  to  have  told  them  the  news.  What  is 
Trip  growling  at  so,  t'  other  side  of  the  barn  ?  I  '11  go 
and  see."  So  Ephraim  turned  his  steps  thitherward, 
and,  as  the  full  vision  broke  over  him,  he  burst  into  a 
loud  laugh,  which  the  barn  and  woodshed  seemed  to 
enjoy  as  much  as  he,  for  they  echoed  it  back  none  the 
less  lustily. 

Trip  lay  with  his  front  feet  planted  on  a  log  of  wood, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  figure  of  a  man  which  was 
half-protruded  through  an  opening  just  over  the  side- 
door.  He  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  penned  there, 
being  able  to  move  neither  backwards  nor  forwards, 
—  an  "  unaccountable  squeeze,"  as  Ephraim  called  it. 
His  comrades  had  all  forsaken  him.  Being  some 
what  afraid  of  Trip,  and  none  the  less  of  Ephraim, 


118  DURHAM  VILLAGE. 

they  had  scampered  off  in  every  direction,  pell-mell, 
as  soon  as  free. 

^ "  Well,  now,  I  say,"  broke  out  Ephraim,  "  an't 
you  kind  of  tired  \  I  stand  up  when  I  look  out  of 
the  barn  window.  I  never  tried  it  that  way.  Should  n't 
think  't  was  very  easy ;  is  it  ?  Can't  I  help  you  out  ? 
Ye  han't  heard  that  the  temperance  folks  have  beat  ? 
They  have,  though.  Blazers  !  " 

But  Ephraim  now  went  to  work  to  free  the  pris 
oner,  having  first  shut  Trip  up.  It  was  no  easy  mat 
ter,  however.  The  only  way  of  procedure  was  by 
saw  and  axe ;  and  it  was  every  now  and  then,  with  a 
right  lusty  jerk,  he  let  the  full  force  of  the  saw  come 
over  the  delinquent's  coat,  so  that,  when  the  hole  was 
sufficiently  large  for  his  exit,  the  poor  man  had  scarce 
a  whole  thread  in  his  garment. 

"There,  now,"  said  Ephraim,  as  the  fellow  stood 
again  upon  his  feet,  and  he  recognized  one  of  his  distant 
neighbors ;  "  there,  now,  an't  you  ashamed  ?  If  the 
deacon  wan't  a  real  kind-hearted  man,  Isaac,  you  'd 
catch  it ;  but  I  don't  believe  you  'd  have  done  it,  if  it 
had  not  been  for  rum,  would  ye  ? " 

The  man  stammered  out,  "  No  !  "  and,  hearing  the 
rumbling  of  the  deacon's  wagon-wheels  in  the  lane, 
sprang  over  the  fence,  and  was  off. 

For  a  fortnight  after  the  temperance  meeting,  it 
seemed  as  though  the  excitement  would  never  end. 
Appointed  commissioners  ferreted  out  every  rum-stand 
in  the  village.  The  law  had  given  its  aid,  and  it  was 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  119 

decreed  that  Durham  Village  should  yet  be  free  from 
the  pollution. 

"  Do  not  talk  to  me  about  Julia  Lundley  any  more, 
Mr.  Henshaw,"  exclaimed  Frank  Downer,  the  day 
after  voting-day.  "  She  is  the  cantingest  of  canters. 
She  gave  me  a  lecture  long  enough  to  reach  from  one 
end  of  the  village  to  the  other.  I  told  her  I  could 
not  get  any  wine  here  now,  and  she  went  off  in  a  tan 
gent  upon  resisting  temptation  in  the  city.  Bah !  I 
hate  such  preachers !  " 

"  Not  so  hard,  Frank,  not  so  hard ;  you  come  too 
near  home,  for  I  have  her  promise  to  keep  on  preach 
ing,  or,  rather,  to  be  the  preacher's  wife ;  you  know  I 
settle  soon." 

Frank  dropped  his  book,  and  burst  into  a  hearty 
laugh.  "  The  more  —  "  but  a  glance  from  Mr.  Hen- 
shaw's  eyes  checked  his  words,  and  he  remained  silent. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

LITTLE   ARTHUR. 

THE  longer  Arthur  remained  in  No.  22,  the  more 
attached  did  every  one  become  to  him.  His  step  was 
music  to  them,  and  his  voice  rang  through  the  house 
like  the  tones  of  a  silver  bell.  Every  one  loved  him, 
and  none  more  than  William.  He  would  sit  for  hours 
watching  his  play,  and  often  the  child  would  spring 
from  the  floor  and  throw  his  arms  around  him,  tell 
ing  him,  artlessly,  how  much  he  loved  him.  Thus 
rousing  in  the  heart  of  the  man  the  tender,  almost 
feminine  sympathies  which  awaken  only  at  the  call  of 
a  child,  no  wonder  that  he  loved  him.  Hardly  ever 
did  he  return  from  his  business  without  a  present  for 
the  boy,  and  whenever  the  little  fellow  espied  him  from 
the  window  he  would  run  down  to  meet  him  with 
some  pretty  welcome,  —  such  a  welcome  as  little  chil 
dren  only  can  give. 

One  evening  he  was  delayed  for  a  much  longer  time 
than  usual.  Darkness  began  to  creep  over  the  streets, 
and  Arthur  had  strained  his  eyes  until  they  ached,  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  him.  Restless  and  eager,  he  still 
watched, 

"  0,  there !  there  he  comes,  Mamma !  "  he  shouted, 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  121 

and  sprung  bounding  from  his  chair,  to  run  down  and 
meet  him,  when,  suddenly,  just  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  his  foot  tripped,  and  he  fell  down  into  the  entry 
below.  Mrs.  Roberts  heard  him  strike  upon  every  stair. 
Edith  rushed  from  her  room  at  the  unusual  sound,  and 
William  opened  the  door  just  in  time  to  see  his  head 
strike  the  last  stair.  A  moan  went  up  through  the 
entry,  and  then  all  was  still. 

"  He  breathes,"  said  William,  as  he  raised  the  little 
sufferer,  and  laid  him  on  the  sofa.  "  He  breathes,  — 
but,  Heavens !  his  arm  is  broken !  and  see  how  the 
blood  mats  his  hair  !  " 

Edith  rubbed  his  hands,  bathed  the  temples,  and  he 
soon  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Sick,"  he  said,  "  sick !  "  and  closed  them  again. 

"  Better  go  for  Doctor  May,  brother ;  his  arm  must 
be  quickly  attended  to." 

The  doctor  was  soon  in  the  room.  The  child  had 
revived,  and  was  speaking  incoherently  and  wildly  to 
those  about  him. 

"  This  is  a  very  serious  injury,"  said  the  doctor,  as 
he  examined  the  child.  "  The  broken  arm  is  not  the 
worst.  I  am  afraid  of  an  injury  upon  the  brain." 

William  went  up  to  his  room,  took  a  glass  of  brandy 
to  strengthen  him,  and  returned.  He  held  Arthur 
while  Doctor  May  set  the  arm,  but  could  endure  it  no 
longer.  It  seemed  as  though  he  himself  would  become 
insane.  He  laid  the  still  moaning  darling  in  his 
mother's  lap,  and  went  back  to  his  room,  and  drank ; 
11 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

LITTLE   ARTHUR. 

THE  longer  Arthur  remained  in  No.  22,  the  more 
attached  did  every  one  become  to  him.  His  step  was 
music  to  them,  and  his  voice  rang  through  the  house 
like  the  tones  of  a  silver  bell.  Every  one  loved  him, 
and  none  more  than  William.  He  would  sit  for  hours 
watching  his  play,  and  often  the  child  would  spring 
from  the  floor  and  throw  his  arms  around  him,  tell 
ing  him,  artlessly,  how  much  he  loved  him.  Thus 
rousing  in  the  heart  of  the  man  the  tender,  almost 
feminine  sympathies  which  awaken  only  at  the  call  of 
a  child,  no  wonder  that  he  loved  him.  Hardly  ever 
did  he  return  from  his  business  without  a  present  for 
the  boy,  and  whenever  the  little  fellow  espied  him  from 
the  window  he  would  run  down  to  meet  him  with 
some  pretty  welcome,  —  such  a  welcome  as  little  chil 
dren  only  can  give. 

One  evening  he  was  delayed  for  a  much  longer  time 
than  usual.  Darkness  began  to  creep  over  the  streets, 
and  Arthur  had  strained  his  eyes  until  they  ached,  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  him.  Restless  and  eager,  he  still 
watched, 

"  0,  there !  there  he  comes,  Mamma !  "  he  shouted, 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  121 

and  sprung  bounding  from  his  chair,  to  run  down  and 
meet  him,  when,  suddenly,  just  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  his  foot  tripped,  and  he  fell  down  into  the  entry 
below.  Mrs.  Roberts  heard  him  strike  upon  every  stair. 
Edith  rushed  from  her  room  at  the  unusual  sound,  and 
William  opened  the  door  just  in  time  to  see  his  head 
strike  the  last  stair.  A  moan  went  up  through  the 
entry,  and  then  all  was  still. 

"  He  breathes,"  said  "William,  as  he  raised  the  little 
sufferer,  and  laid  him  on  the  sofa.  "  He  breathes,  — 
but,  Heavens !  his  arm  is  broken  !  and  see  how  the 
blood  mats  his  hair  !  " 

Edith  rubbed  his  hands,  bathed  the  temples,  and  he 
soon  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Sick,"  he  said,  "  sick !  "  and  closed  them  again. 

"  Better  go  for  Doctor  May,  brother ;  his  arm  must 
be  quickly  attended  to." 

The  doctor  was  soon  in  the  room.  The  child  had 
revived,  and  was  speaking  incoherently  and  wildly  to 
those  about  him. 

"  This  is  a  very  serious  injury,"  said  the  doctor,  as 
he  examined  the  child.  "  The  broken  arm  is  not  the 
worst.  I  am  afraid  of  an  injury  upon  the  brain." 

William  went  up  to  his  room,  took  a  glass  of  brandy 
to  strengthen  him,  and  returned.  He  held  Arthur 
while  Doctor  May  set  the  arm,  but  could  endure  it  no 
longer.  It  seemed  as  though  he  himself  would  become 
insane.  He  laid  the  still  moaning  darling  in  his 
mother's  lap,  and  went  back  to  his  room,  and  drank ; 
11 


122  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

drank  until  his  very  brain  seemed  on  fire,  and  delirium 
stared  him  in  the  face. 

With  delirium  above,  and  delirium  below,  Edith  did 
not  falter,  but  went  first  from  one  room  to  the  other, 
with  a  tender  anxiety.  How  much  would  she  now  give, 
had  she  her  brother's  strong  arm  to  lean  upon !  How 
much  could  he  now  do  to  comfort  them !  But  no ;  he 
was  fast  approaching  that  hideous  land  which  he  had 
seen  once  before,  and  she  whom  God  had  made  the 
weaker  must  become,  and  was,  the  stronger. 

Before  morning,  Mr.  Henley's  assistance  was 
required  to  protect  them  all.  William,  in  his  insanity, 
had  loaded  a  gun  and  placed  it  under  his  pillow. 
Then,  springing,  he  would  reel  with  it  —  his  hand 
upon  the  trigger  —  back  and  forth  through  the  house, 
calling  upon  them  to  bring  Arthur  to  him,  or  he 
would  fire.  And  thus  passed  that  awful  night. 

But  the  child  grew  worse,  rapidly.  A  long  ill 
ness  —  a  brain  fever  —  ensued,  and  watchful  anxiety 
grew  more  and  more  hopeless.  At  times,  William 
would  rouse  himself  to  effort,  but,  as  clouds  seemed  to 
settle  over  the  life  of  the  child,  he  flew  to  his  only 
resource.  At  lucid  intervals,  Arthur  would  inquire 
for  him,  and  wonder  why  he  staid  so  long  away. 

It  was  a  terrible  fortnight  at  that  house.  It  seemed 
as  though  every  nerve  were  stretched  to  the  utmost. 
Mrs.  Roberts  sat  by  the  child,  despairing,  but  calm ; 
and  Edith  dared  not  comfort  her. 

It  was  midnight.  William's  room  was  still, —  still 
as  the  grave.  It  must  be  that  he  slept.  Edith  stole 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  123 

softly  down,  and  entered  the  room  of  sickness.  The 
dim  lamp  shed  its  soft  light  around,  but  the  hanging 
curtains  darkened  the  bed. 

"  Mother,"  said  a  feeble  voice,  "  mother,  I  am  well 
now ;  there  is  no  pain  here ;  I  am  well  again ;  "  — 
then  all  was  still.  Mrs.  Roberts  rose,  and  drew  back 
the  curtain.  Arthur •  smiled.  "Yes,  mother,"  he 
said,  "  I  am  well.  Where  is  Uncle  William  ?  I  feel 
better ;  to-morrow  I  will  play  with  him  again ;  to-mor 
row —  "  and  he  fell  asleep. 

"  He  sleeps,"  whispered  Edith.  "  The  fever  turns 
to-night;  if  he  sleep,  he  shall  do  well."  She  leaned 
over  and  listened.  The  breath  came  peacefully  and 
naturally,  and  she  closed  the  curtains,  and  sat  watching. 

No  door  opened  in  the  chamber;  there  had  been  no 
foot-tread  on  the  floor,  the  curtains  of  the  bed  had 
not  even  stirred,  —  yet  the  still  messenger  had  en 
tered,  and  borne  away  that  child-spirit. 

William  heard  the  sounds  of  grief  in  Edith's  room, 
and  went  in. 

"  Ah !  Edith,  what  is  it,  hey  ? "  for  he  was  more 
himself  than  he  had  been  through  Arthur's  illness. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  It  is  all  over,  William." 

"  All  aver  !  Arthur  is  not  d " 

"  Yes  ;  gone,  —  called  away." 

An  oath  rose  to  William's  lips,  and,  with  it  still 
burning  in  his  heart,  he  went  down  to  where  the  child 
lay.  There  he  remained.  No  one  could  draw  him 
thence.  He  would  not  leave  the  child ;  there  he  stood 


124  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

a  whole  day  and  a  whole  night,  fixed.  It  was  only 
the  arrangements  for  the  funeral  that  at  last  carried 
him  from  the  room. 

They  must  bear  him  out,  with  his  white  hands  folded 
BO  innocently  over  his  breast,  his  face  still  beautiful  to 
look  upon !  yet  he  must  go,  —  and  thus  they  buried 
him. 

The  star  had  set.  Had  its  course  been  like  that  of 
one  who  now  mourned,  who  would  not  say,  "  It  is  well; 
he  is  taken  away  from  the  evil  to  come  "  ? 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE   DISCLOSURE. 

"  GET  up  !  go  lang !  Can't  you  go  a  little  faster, 
Dobbin  ?  Miss  Julia*  has  been  waiting  a  month  for 
this  ere  letter,  and  I  'm  carrying  it  to  her  now.  Dob 
bin,  can't  ye  go  lang?"  and,  with  this  reiterated  en 
treaty,  Ephraim  laid  the  full  length  of  the  whip  on 
Dobbin's  back,  who,  nothing  minding,  walked  incorri 
gibly  on.  Yet,  somehow,  Dobbin's  walk  would  bring 
him  to  the  farm  in  due  time.  Ephraim  was  convinced 
of  this,  and  singing  "  one  foot  up,  and  one  foot  down," 
he  at  length  reached  home,  without  making  another 
effort  for  speed. 

Julia  sat  at  the  window,  watching.  One  whole 
month  had  worn  away  since  she  had  heard  from  Edith, 
and  those  anxieties  which  had  never  ceased  to  follow 
her  were  wasting  her  strength. 

"  Here  't  is,  Miss  Julia.  You  see  't  was  only  because 
I  went  for  it,"  said  Ephraim,  as  he  handed  her  the 
letter.  "  I  knowed  I  'd  get  one,  Miss  Corneille,  you 
see,"  added  he,  with  a  satisfied  wink,  "  I  'd  get  it." 

Julia  took  the  letter  quickly,  and  hurried  to  her 
room.  With  a  joyous  heart,  she  saw  a  long,  full  letter 
from  Edith,  besides  a  small  note,  which  was  marked 


126  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"private."  She  read  the  first;  it  was  full  of  home 
news.  It  was  this  that  she  might  read  to  the  waiting 
circle  below.  It  announced  Edith's  intended  mar 
riage,  and  the  day  for  its  consummation.  But  the 
note  ;  Julia  feared  to  open  it.  A  strange  terror  crept 
over  her,  and  twice  she  laid  it  down,  but  at  length 
broke  the  seal  and  read, 

"  0,  sister !  Is  there  no  hope  for  our  William  ? 
How  can  I  tell  you?  how  can  you  tell  "them?  —  my 
father  —  my  mother  ?  William  is  a  drunkard  !  I 
have  striven  to  conceal  it  from  you  all.  I  have  labored 
day  and  night ;  but  there  is  no  hope.  Since  Arthur 
died,  he  has  grown  like  a  madman,  and  there  is  no 
safety  with  him.  Mr.  Henley  is  not  willing  to  leave 
me  longer  with  him,  and  Mrs.  Roberts  feels  that  she 
must  go.  I  can  hardly  recognize  him  now.  His  mind 
seems  gone,  and  he  is  not  able  to  attend  to  his  business. 
Mr.  Henley  has  taken  this  upon  himself,  too,  or  we  should 
have  seen  him  this  day  a  broken  merchant.  We  have 
tried  to  lay  plans  for  him.  I  do  not  wish  mother  to 
know  it  until  we  have  made  one  more  effort.  Ephraim 
must  come  down  and  live  with  him.  I  fear  the  farm, 
without  him,  will.be  lonely  enough;  yet  he  must  come. 
He  must  come,  under  pretext  of  being  at  my  wedding. 
Come  he  must  —  the  sooner  the  better.  You  must 
tell  him  the  story,  and  bid  him  be  silent.  God  help 
us,  for  we  have  need  of  help." 

Julia  laid  down  the  note.  There  were  no  signs  of 
tears  upon  her  cheek,  but  a  crimson  flush,  which  told 
of  deeper  agony  than  of  that  of  tears,  was  there. 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  127 

She  sat  thus  for  a  half-hour,  motionless  as  marble ;  yet 
within,  grief  was  at  work  which  would  almost  have 
made  marble  speak.  She  felt  that  this  would  not  do  ; 
it  might  arouse  suspicion  :  and,  with  one  of  those  mas 
ter  efforts  which  few  can  make,  she  regained  her  usual 
composure,  and  went  down  to  read  the  letter. 

"  Sit  close  by  me,  Julia,"  said  the  old  lady,  as  she 
saw  her  enter  with  the  letter;  "  any  news  from  our 
boy  is  good  news.  Bless  the  lad !  I  want  to  hear 
all." 

"  Come,  father,"  called  Mrs.  Lundley,  "  here  is 
another  of  Edith's  long  letters.  I  am  proud  that  my 
boy  makes  her  so  happy.  After  all,  it  is  well  she  went 
with  him." 

Ephraim  joined  the  listening  group. 

"  Blazers !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  Julia  finished  reading. 
"  Well,  I  might  have  known  it,  there ;  't  will  never 
answer  to  let  such  eyes  go  into  the  city,  if  one  expects 
to  see  them  again  without  two  owners." 

"  She  does  not  say  much  about  William,  does  she  ?  " 
inquired  the  mother. 

"Why,  ma'am,"  replied  Ephraim,  "don't  you  under 
stand  it  ?  She  is  all  tuk  up  with  Mr.  Henley,  of  course. 
Master  William  won't  be  in  the  foreground  any  more. 
I  always  said  folks  that  were  much  to  young  women 
before  they  were  engaged,  were  very  much  like  old 
steers,  —  glad  enough  to  lay  them  aside  for  new  ones." 

"Perhaps  it  is  so,"  said  Mrs.  Lundley,  smiling. 
"  Well,  we  will  wait  for  the  next  letter." 


128  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  Time  to  drive  the  cows  home,  now,"  said  Ephraim, 
"  so  I  '11  go;  but  I  can't  help  thinking  on  her." 

"  Ephraim,  I  will  go  with  you,  to-night ;  reading 
this  letter  makes  my  head  feel  strangely,  and  the  fresh 
air  will  do  me  good,"  said  Julia ;  and,  hastily  throwing 
on  a  shawl,  she  went  out  with  him  to  the  lane. 

"  Miss  Edith  an't  no  better  off  than  somebody  else 
I  know  on,"  commenced  Ephraim,  his  whole  head  be 
ing  filled  with  the  news. 

"  No,  no,  Ephraim ;  I  have  something  more  to  tell 
you.  But  you  must  keep  it  secret." 

"Well,  now;  Master  William  going  over  the  dam? 
as  we  used  to  call  being  married.  If  Master  William 
is,  then  I  will." 

"  0,  Ephraim !  it 's  a  sad  story  I  have  to  tell 
you ! " 

The  man  stopped  short,  and  with  him  a  halt  was  an 
uncommon  thing.  There  was  something  in  the  tone 
of  her  voice  which  made  its  way  into  his  very  heart, 
and  he  stood  transfixed. 

"  Master  William  is  not  dead  ?  " 

"No,  not  dead,  —  but  dying." 

"  What 's  the  matter  on  him  ?  " 

"Ephraim,  he  drinks!  drinks  to  stupefaction  — 
drinks  the  life  out  of  him !  " 

The  stout-hearted  fellow  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears. 

"  He  don't  drink  !  he  has  too  kind  a  heart.  It 's  a 
lie !  "  he  at  length  said. 

"  No,  Ephraim,  it  is  the  truth ;  Miss  Edith  says  so, 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  129 

and  writes  there  is  no  hope  but  in  you.  You  must  go 
to  him." 

"I  — I  '11  save  him,  if  I  die." 

"  But  how  shall  we  manage  so  that  the  people  here 
need  not  suspect  anything  wrong,  —  mother  and  grand 
mother  ?  " 

"  T  would  kill  her." 

"But  you  must  go,  and  go  soon ;  "  and  Julia  then 
read  him  the  note. 

"  I  '11  fix  it  by  to-morrow.  Leave  me  alone,  and  I 
will  find  a  plan ;  but  I  must  have  my  cry  out  afore  I 
go,"  and  Ephraim  went  on  his  way  alone. 

Julia  watched  him  as  far  as  she  could,  and,  by 
the  motion  of  his  arm,  she  knew  that  he  was  still 
weeping. 

"  Alas  for  my  mother !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  When 
she  knows  it,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  She  saw  no  angel, 
but  heard,  as  it  were,  a  spirit  voice,  whispering,  "  As 
thy  day,  so  shall  thy  strength  be,"  and  returned  com 
forted.  • 

"Julia,"  said  her  mother,  as  she  opened  the  door, 
"  Mrs.  Downer  has  been  in  here  since  you  left,  and 
wants  you  to  come  up  there  to-morrow.  She  says 
Frank  is  sick,  and  wants  to  see  you ;  just  sick  enough 
to  be  confined  to  his  room,  —  so  she  said  you  must 
be  sure  and  not  disappoint  him.  She  looks  like  a 
broken-hearted  mother.  I  cannot  be  too  grateful 
that  my  boy  is  not  like  hers.  I  think,  from  what 
she  says,  that  he  has  been  a  sore  affliction  to  her.  I 
bear  with  me  a  grateful  heart  for  my  boy." 


130  DURHAM  VILLAGE. 

Just  as  she  spoke  these  words,  Ephraim  opened  the 
door,  but  shut  it  again  with  such  force  that  it  shook 
the  whole  room. 

"  I  guess  Ephraim  has  lost  some  of  his  cows,"  said 
the  deacon.  "  Julia,  go  and  see." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

FRANK    DOWNER. 

ABOUT  two  o'clock  on  the  following  day,  Dolly  was 
saddled  to  carry  Julia  to  Mrs.  Downer's.  Reports 
had  been  afloat  unfriendly  to  Frank,  and  Julia  feared 
lest  her  visit  might  have  something  to  do  with  these. 
In  her  heart  she  hoped  she  might  not  be  interrogated 
too  closely  as  to  what  she  knew,  for  she  dreaded  to  add 
one  straw's  weight  to  the  sorrow  which  was  working 
death  in  that  mother's  heart. 

Mrs.  Downer  was  anxiously  watching  for  her,  for 
before  she  reached  the  gate  the  woman  had  come  out 
of  the  house,  and  gone  down  to  open  it. 

"  How  is  Frank,  to-day,  Mrs.  Downer  ?  "  she  in 
quired,  as  she  perceived  how  unusually  pale  the  mother 
was ;  "  no  worse,  I  hope  ?  " 

"No  worse,  thank  you;  but  there's  a  city  friend 
come  down  to  visit  him,  and  it 's  a  sore  trial  to  me, 
now  Mr.  Henshaw  is  gone." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  not  go  in.  When  did  he 
come  ?  " 

"  Last  evening ;  and  I  don't  like  his  looks  at  all. 
You  had  better  come  in,  for  Frank  's  bent  on  seeing 
you." 


132  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

As  Julia  alighted  from  the  horse,  the  gentleman 
stepped  to  the  door. 

"Miss  Lundley,  Mr.  Diamond,"  was  the  brief  intro 
duction. 

The  young  man  made  a  smooth,  polished  bow,  and 
Julia  went  in,  while  he  passed  on  into  the  street. 

"  I  guess  Frank  has  sent  him  off  on  an  errand.  I 
believe  he  came  down  to  shoot  game,  —  at  least,  he 
intimated  it ;  —  and  looks  for  a  friend  soon,  —  a  Mr. 
Dunlap,  I  think,  —  to  join  him." 

Frank  now  opened  the  door  of  the  room  in  which 
he  was  sitting,  and  begged  Julia  to  come  in. 

She  was  alarmed  at  the  change  which  a  few  days' 
illness  had  wrought  in  him,  and  expressed  herself 
thus. 

"  Come  in  quickly,  Julia.  Mr.  Diamond  was  not 
at  all  willing  to  lose  your  call,  and  I  '11  warrant  he 
will  return  soon.  I  want  to  know  what  I  shall  do," 
and  his  tone  was  that  of  entreaty. 

"  Do  ?  —  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  know  of  nothing 
better  for  you  to  do  than  to  get  well,"  replied  Julia, 
half-playfully,  as  she  seated  herself  by  him. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Henshaw  were  here,"  said  he. 

«  So  do  I." 

"  Will  he  not  be  back  soon  ?  " 

"  Yes;  I  look  for  him  in  about  three  weeks." 

"  I  cannot  wait  until  then.     You  must  tell  me." 

"Tell  you  what?     I  surely  will,  if  I  can." 

"  How  shall  I  break  up  drinking  ?  Here,  now,  just 
as  I  formed  my  plans  for  being  steady,  here  come 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  183 

• 

these  young  fellows  down  from  the  city,  laden  with 
their  wines.  They  have  come  for  a  time  of  it,  and  a 
time  of  it  they  will  have.  I  dare  not  refuse  to  take 
wine,  and,  if  I  take  it,  I  must  take  it  forever.  How 
shall  I  act  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  very  simple  thing,  Frank ;  —  say  no !  " 

"  And  bear  their  ridicule  and  my  own  distress. 
You  do  not  know  what  a  thirst  I  have  for  it.  I  some 
times  feel  as  though  I  had  rather  die  than  give  it  up. 
Yet  my  strength  is  failing,  and  my  mind  —  the  man 
within  me,  of  which  I  was  once  so  proud  —  is  like  a 
child.  The  sight  of  a  book  terrifies  me.  I  am  a 
ruined  man  if  I  do  not  desist,  and  desist  I  cannot." 

"  Have  you  not  a  WILL,"  exclaimed  the  young  girl, 
ardently,  "  which  can  make  you  the  conqueror  ?  a  will 
which  shall  be  triumphant  ?  Do  not  let  it  be  inactive 
within  you.  Your  passions  would  trample  it  down, 
your  appetite  would  debase  it,  your  affections  would 
lull  it ;  but  rouse  it,  —  let  it  come  forth  from  the  prison 
in  which  it  has  been  so  long  chained.  Bid  it  come ! 
It  will  obey,  and  the  will  triumphant,  with  God's 
strength,  shall  restore  you." 

"  Can  I  do  it  now  ?  " 

"  Now  ?  — yes  !  Let  Mr.  Diamond  tempt  you;  be 
determined  and  successful." 

"  It  is  easy  to  talk,  Julia." 

"  It  may  be  hard  to  act,  but  act  you  can  ;  and,  if 
you  sink,  you  sink  because  you  will." 

"  It  lies  in  me,  then.  I  felt  that  it  did,  but  I  had 
hoped  there  might  be  some  other  means  of  help." 


134 


DURHAM    VILLAGE. 


"  Had  you  not  rather  be  your  mvn  conqueror  ?  " 

"  If  I  could  ;  but  I  have  tried." 

"  Never  with  your  whole  strength.  Try  now  ;  trials 
never  were  stronger,  victory  will  never  be  more  glori 
ous.  Stand,  and  bejirm." 

Mr.  Diamond  now  entered.  He  evidently  saw  that 
something  was  interesting  them  both  deeply,  but,  noth 
ing  abashed,  he  seated  himself  very  comfortably  in  the 
rocking-chair. 

"Fine  country,  this,  Frank.  I  like  it  much.  I 
don't  wonder  William  Lundley  loved  to  come  home  ; 
poor  fellow  !  He  is  a  brother  of  yours,  I  think,  Miss 
Julia  ?  I  knew  your  sister  ;  you  don't  resemble  her 
much,  though  I  think  your  voice  is  like  hers.  She  was 
a  beauty  when  she  first  came  down,  but  she  don't  look 
quite  so  fresh  now.  Trouble  comes  fast  upon  her." 

"  Do  you  know  the  gentleman  to  whom  she  is  en 
gaged?  "  inquired  Frank. 

"  Of  course  I  do  ;  but  I  don't  like  him.  Dunlap 
and  I  think  he  is  a  great  -  .  Excuse  me,  I  almost 
forgot  the  lady's  presence.  He  's  a  temperance  man, 
Downer  ;  that  will  put  him  on  the  right  level,  in  your 
estimation." 

"  It  will  raise  him  high,  then,  r  trust,"  replied  Ju 
lia,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  Frank  with  an  expression  which 
he  well  understood. 

"  I  shall  surely  respect  him  for  it,"  was  the  cold 
answer. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  that  's  rich  !  It  is  beating  the  devil  in 
his  own  house,  an't  it  ?  I  respect  him,  too  !  "  and  Mr. 


DURHAM  TILLAGE.  135 

Diamond  continued  for  some  time  laughing  at  what  he 
supposed  Frank  intended  as  a  joke. 

"  You  have  not  seen  your  brother  lately,  Miss 
Julia,  have  you  ?  "  he  inquired,  at  length,  addressing 
her. 

"  No,  I  have  not  since  his  last  visit  home." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  but  a  glance  from  that  eye,  gentle 
though  it  was,  rebuked  him,  and  he  stopped. 

"I  must  go  now,  Frank,"  she  said,  rising.  "I  trust 
you  will  be  better  soon.  Here  are  some  flowers  which 
I  had  almost  forgotten  ;  I  gathered  them  by  the  way," 
and  she  laid  them  in  his  hand,  giving  him  at  the  same 
time  a  slight  pressure,  which  he  knew  showed  a  cordial 
approval  of  his  first  step  in  reformation. 

Mr.  Diamond  accompanied  her  to  the  door,  and,  as 
he  assisted  her  to  the  saddle,  she  said, 

"  May  I  ask  a  favor  of  you,  sir  ? " 

"  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  grant  it." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  my  brother's  habits  anywhere  in 
this  neighborhood.  It  is  not  known  here ;  and  God 
knows  it  would  kill  them  at  home." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Why,  I  supposed,  of  course,  you 
all  knew  of  it,  and  had  got  used  to  it  by  this  time.  It 
is  nothing,  up  our  way.  But  I  will  hold  my  peace,  if 
I  car,  -if  it  don't  leak  out." 

"  And  I  shall  always  thank  you  for  it,"  she  said, 
eagerly  ;  —  and  there  was  such  a  grateful  expression 
in  her  face,  that  Mr.  Diamond  returned  to  the  house 
feeling  sure  he  had  performed  a  generous  deed  !  Poor 
fellow ! 


18G  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

As  she  turned  through  the  gate  she  met  Mrs. 
Downer. 

"  Julia,"  she  asked,  "  can  my  boy  be  saved  ?  These 
young  men  are  not  like  us." 

"Yes,  I  hope  so.  He  will  save  himself;  he  has 
promised  to  try,  and  I  think  he  will." 

"  Stay  ;  Julia,  did  he  say  anything  of  William  ? " 

"  Not  much ;    why  ? " 

"  Because  I  heard  something  strange  of  him ;  but  I 
did  not  believe  it." 

"  Say  nothing,  Mrs.  Downer.  Eeports  have  come 
to  me,  but  not  to  the  farm.  I  hope  for  the  best !  '* 
And,  with  an  unusual  calmness,  that  deceived  Mrs. 
Downer,  she  started  on  her  way. 

During  her  absence,  by  one  of  those  sudden  move 
ments  for  which  he  was  somewhat- noted,  Ephraim  had 
announced  the  startling  intelligence  to  Deacon  Lund- 
ley  "  that  haying-time  was  over,  and,  having  nothing 
particular  to  do,  he  should  like  to  go  to  the  city ;  and 
the  fun  of  it  was,  he  wanted  to  go  next  day." 

"Well,  Julia,  things  are  stranger  and  stranger! 
What  do  you  think  of  Ephraim's  wanting  to  go  to  the 
city  ?  He  is  going  to-morrow."  This" \yas  the  first  thing 
with  which  her  father  greeted  her  on  her  return. 

"  Well,  let  him  go,  father ;  he  will  see  enough  to 
last  him  his  lifetime." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE   RIDE   TO   THE   CITY. 

"  WELL,  now,  it  is  the  last  thing  I  should  have 
thought  on,  Ephraim,  your  wanting  to  go  to  the  city. 
You  don't  know  what  you  're  going  to,"  said  the  old 
lady,  as  Ephraim  came  to  bid  her  good-by. 

"  0,  yes  I  do,  grandma'am.  I  am  going  to  the 
tumble,  and  rattle,  and  thunder  and  battle,  of  high  life. 
Good-by,  Miss  Corneille ;  if  you  'd  write  me  a  letter, 
I  'd  think  of  answering  on  it,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice 
to  this  personage,  who  had  followed  him  to  the  door. 
"  Good-by ! "  and  he  sprang  into  the  wagon  which 
stood  ready  to  carry  him  to  meet  the  stage,  some  six 
miles  from  the  farm. 

With  his  broad  white  collar  turned  over  the  coat, 
and  his  bright  blue  neck-cloth,  he  seemed  to  have  re 
newed  his  youth,  and  looked  like  a  boy  of  eighteen, 
saving  the  few  deep  furrows  which  time  had  ploughed 
in  his  forehead.  He  had  tied  up  all  necessary  articles 
of  his  wardrobe  in  a  checked  handkerchief,  and  was 
not  over-burdened  with  baggage.  Thus  he  started, — 
a  good,  stout,  honest  heart,  —  on  an  errand  of  mercy ! 

As  he  drove  up  to  the  town,  he  saw  that  the  stage 
was  already  there,  and  hastened  to  secure  a  seat. 
12* 


138  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

The  driver  opened  the  door,  and  Ephraim  was  about 
to  ascend  the  steps,  when  a  man  stepped  up  and  gave 
him  a  push  back. 

"  Hold,  my  man ;  I  want  the  back  seat.  I  ride  on 
a  few  miles  further,  and  I  like  my  ease.  I  '11  step  in 
first." 

"  Hey  ? "  replied  Ephraim,  stepping  back.  "  Jist 
hold  on  a  bit ;  if  that 's  all  you  want,  I  '11  get  in ;  " 
and,  giving  the  fellow  a  thrust  back,  he  mounted  the 
steps,  stopped  a  moment  to  bow  to  the  passengers,  and 
wish  them  "  good-day,"  and  seated  himself  comfortably 
as  possible. 

"  I  told  you,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  driver,  "  that  your 
stopping  place  was  here ;  don't  you  understand  ?  " 
and  he  gave  this  same  man  another  thrust  off  the  steps. 

"  He  's  took  too  much,  han't  he  ?  "  asked  Ephraim 
of  an  elderly  person  who  sat  next  to  him. 

"  I  should  think  so  !  ha,  ha  !  What  a  fool  it  makes 
of  the  man !  " 

"  I  guess  I  '11  get  in,  anyhow,"  continued  the  obsti 
nate  fellow.  "  I  like  riding,  and  would  as  soon  go 
further  as  not !  "  but  just  then  a  handsome  carriage 
came  dashing  up,  and  a  voice  exclaimed  from  the 
inner  seat, 

"  Ha,  Dunlap  !  just  in  time,  an't  I  ? "  but  the  stage- 
driver  had  mounted  his  box,  and  Ephraim  was  on  his 
way  to  the  city. 

Dash  —  whip,  —  dash  along !  and  yet  how  slowly 
the  hours  went  by !  Not  even  the  beautiful  farms, 
which  lay  scattered  in  all  directions,  could  serve  to 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  139 

while  away  the  time,  and  Ephraim  was  heartily  tired. 
At  length,  as  they  neared  the  city,  the  strange  appear 
ance  of  things  around  him  amused  him,  and  he  kept 
the  passengers  in  unrestrained  merriment  at  his  un 
couth  remarks. 

"  That  beats  all  natur !  "  he  said,  closing  his  eyes 
long  after  the  engine  had  passed,  with  a  train  of  cars. 
"  I  've  read  on  'em,  and  I  've  heard  tell  on  'em,  but 
much  as  ever  my  eyes  seed  them ;  they  wan't  here 
afore  they  were  there !  Kind  of  curious,  though,  an't 
it  ? "  and  he  drew  in  his  head  from  the  window. 
"  Kind  o'  queer,  that 's  certain ;  as  Grandma'am  said, 
I  did  n't  know  what  I  was  a  coming  to." 

"  What  on  arth ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  a  loud,  long 
whistle  rent  the  air.  "  If  there  an't  another  on  'em  !  " 
and  again  he  stretched  his  head  out  of  the  window  as 
far  as  possible. 

"  Blazers !  Well,  it 's  kind  of  curious  what  steam 
is !  There  an't  no  fun  driving  here,  is  there  ?  "  he 
inquired  of  his  next  neighbor.  "  You  can't  do  nothing 
but  turn  out,  and  much  as  ever  that.  There,  we  liked 
to  have  run  agin  that  team !  How  nigh  they  go  ! 
When  I  'm  at  hum,  I  never  turn  out,  because  you  see 
I  don't  meet  carts  often,  but  when  I  drive  I  sits  and 
thinks."  Ephraim  was  lost  in  wonder,  and  it  was  not 
until  the  stage  stopped,  and  the  driver  called  out  "  No. 
22,  —  William  Lundley,"  that  Ephraim  was  aware  of 
his  arrival  in  the  real  city. 

Edith  sat  at  the  window,  watching.  She  had  hoped 
that  relief  might  come  to  her  oon,  and  she  had  looked 


140  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

long  for  Ephraim.  When  the  stage  stopped,  and  she 
saw  his  bluff,  familiar  face,  she  could  have  wept  for 
joy,  and  hurried  to  the  door  to  meet  him. 

"  0,  Ephraim,  you  are  welcome  here.  Come,  come 
in.  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

For  a  moment  he  stood  amazed.  The  rich  brocade 
in  which  she  was  dressed,  and  the  elegant  jewelry 
which  adorned  her,  dazzled  him ;  and  it  was  not  until 
he  caught  full  sight  of  those  same  beautiful  eyes,  that 
he  gained  his  composure. 

"  Can't  I  go  round  the  side  way  ? "  he  said,  as  she 
asked  him  again  to  come  in.  "  I  'mkind  o'  dusty." 

"  0,  no  ;  come  in  here,  —  I  must  hear  from  home. 
Here  's  a  brush,  and  you  can  soon  have  the  dust  off, 
—  come ;  "  and  she  led  him  in  by  the  hand. 

She  felt  that  on  him  must  be  placed  the  burden 
of  the  day,  —  and  good  broad  shoulders  he  had 
for  it. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  felt  himself  at  home,  and 
when,  at  last,  Edith  alluded  to  her  brother,  he  tried  to 
comfort  her  in  his  homely  style. 

"  Can't  I  see  him  to-night  ? "  he  inquired.  "Where 
is  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  his  room.  I  am  afraid  to  have  ydu  go 
up.  I  will  go  first,  and  see." 

She  returned  soon,  and  led  the  way  up  the  stairs. 
William  lay  upon  the  sofa,  with  reddened  eyes  and 
bloated  face.  He  looked  up,  as  he  saw  the  figure  of  a 
man  and  spoke. 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  141 

"  What 's  wanted  ?  "  The  voice  was  hollow  and 
rough. 

"How  are  you,  Master  William?"  said  Ephraim, 
going  towards  him  and  extending  his  hand.  "  I  've 
come  down  to  see  how  you  get  along,  now-a-days." 

It  was  an  unusually  sober  moment  for  William. 
He  recognized  the  man,  and  shook  hands  with  him 
heartily. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Eph.     How  's  mother  ? " 

"  She 's  well,  to  be  sure." 

"  I  love  that  woman.     How  is  she  ?  " 

"  She  is  well,"  answered  Ephraim. 

"  Edith,  hand  Eph  a  glass  of  wine,"  he  ordered 
peremptorily,  as  she  reappeared  at  the  door. 

"  No,  sir." 

«But—" 

"No,  sir;  I  won't." 

"Don't  you  go,"  said  William,  as  Ephraim  rose 
to  leave  the  room.  "Stay  with  me;  because,"  he 
added,  in  a  whisper,  "  there  's  a  devil  comes  in  to 
see  me  soon,  and  I  want  you  to  fight  him  for  me.  Do 
stay." 

"Yes,  —  I  will  come  back  soon;"  and,  leaving 
the  room,  he  leaned  his  head  upon  the  banister,  and 
wept ! 

"  I  han't  come  down  to  cry,  Miss  Edith,"  he  said, 
as  she  opened  the  door  of  her  room  and  found 
him  thus.  "  But  I  must  take  it  out  first,  and  then 
I  '11  help." 

Mr.  Henley  called  during  the  evening,  and  Ephraim 


142  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

saw  him  with  his  own  eyes ;  he  talked  with  him,  and, 
as  he  said  to  Edith  when  he  went  up  to  his  room  for 
the  night,  he  felt 

"  That 's  a  smart  one  of  yours,  —  he 's  a  real  gen 
tleman." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ADVENTURES  OP  THE  CITY  GENTLEMEN. 

IN  the  course  of  a  few  days,  there  was  hardly  a 
family  in  Durham  who  had  not  heard  of  the  arrival 
of  these  young  men  from  the  city.  In  fact,  they  had 
made  themselves  familiar  with  many  of  the  inhabitants, 
either  by  stopping  to  inquire  the  way  when  they 
started  out  to  hunt,  or  requesting  to  be  allowed  to 
warm  themselves  by  the  fire,  or  asking  for  a  tumbler  of 
water,  —  so  that  they  knew  well  where  a  pretty  face 
stood  ready  to  greet  them,  and  oftener  made  calls  in 
that  direction.  Their  dashing  manners  and  polished 
address  gave  them  admittance  to  many  a  quiet  home 
from  which  they  had  far  better  have  been  excluded. 

"  It 's  mighty  quiet,  though,  down  here,  in  the  eve 
ning  ;  an't  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Dunlap,  as  he  threw  him 
self  back  in  his  chair,  and  gave  an  inexpressibly  long 
yawn.  "  Mighty  quiet  for  me ;  but  I  suppose  it  is 
not  quite  so  dull  down  to  Downer's,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Jupiter  !  yes.  I  can't  get  Frank  to  take  a  drop 
of  wine,  or  anything  else,  with  me.  I  don't  know 
what  has  come  over  him ;  I  believe  he  's  sick.  He 
looks  badly,  too ;  I  should  hardly  recognize  him.  That 
sister  of  Lundlcy's  keeps  coming  there,  —  a  real  Meth- 


144  DURHAM  VILLAGE. 

odist,  I  call  her,  though  she  is  handsome ;  don't  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  Ye-e-s,  —  rather ;  not  just  to  my  liking,  though. 
But,  do  you  know,  that  is  one  great  thing  brought  me 
down  here  ?  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"Yes;  you  don't  think  I  was  fool  enough  to  come 
here,  this  cold  weather,  just  to  shoot,  do  you  ?  Not  I ; 
I  have  business  with  her." 

"  Ha !  Dunlap,  if  you  're  up  to  one  of  your  old 
games  with  her,  you  '11  find  your  match,  I  tell  you  ! 
Besides,  when  you  come  to  see  her  often,  there  is 
something  disagreeably  exact  in  her  manners.  She  is 
a  trollop  !  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Never  mind ;  I  mean  to  see  her  again,  soon.  I 
believe  I  will  go  down  to-night." 

"  Come,  I  will  go  with  you." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  offer,  but  I  will  walk  with 
you  as  far  as  Mrs.  Downer's ;  "  and  Dunlap  rose,  put 
on  his  overcoat,  and  both  gentlemen  walked  out  into 
the  entry. 

"  Is  it  a  long  walk  there  ?  "  asked  Dunlap,  upon 
reaching  the  door. 

"  Rather  long,  —  four  miles." 

"  Jove  !  I  will  ride,  to  be  sure !  "  and  he  stepped 
into  the  bar-room  to  order  a  chaise. 

"  Can't  let  you  have  one  to-night,  sir,  nohow ;  the 
teams  have  all  gone.  There  's  a  grand  break-up,  to 
night,  of  Stan  dish's  rum-hole,  and  they  've  all  gone 
to  it." 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  145 

"What  is  that?"  inquired  Mr.  Diamond. 

"  Why,  sir,  Ephraim,  —  that  is  Deacon  Lundley's 
hired  man,  sir,  —  he  's  found  out  a  rum-hole,  and  left 
word  about  it,  just  before  he  went  to  the  city.  So 
they  've  gone  to-night  to  find  it,  —  good  luck  to  them. 
But  I  am  sorry  I  can't  accommodate  you,  gentle 
men." 

"Where  is  it?"  asked  Mr.  Dunlap. 

"  0,  clear  over  in  Scrub-oak  Forest." 

"  Let 's  go,  Dunlap,"  said  Mr.  Diamond.  "  We 
will  harness  Fleet,  and  soon  be  off.  Walk  down  to 
Downer's  with  me,  and  we  '11  be  ready." 

The  young  men  walked  quickly  to  the  stable,  har 
nessed  Fleet,  and  were  dashing  on. 

"  That  road  leads  to  the  deacon's  farm.  Shall  I 
leave  you,  Dunlap  ? " 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  can  wait.  I  want  to  see  the  fun 
up  there ;  drive  on !  "  and,  with  Fleet's  quick  trot, 
they  reached  the  place  just  as  a  shout  rolled  up  in 
the  night  air,  which  shook  the  dry  leaves  on  the  tree- 
tops ! 

"  Up  with  the  trap-door  !  Pull  away,  my  men  ! 
Don't  mind ;  up  with  the  trap-door !  "  and  another 
shout  proclaimed  the  door  open. 

"  Down  there,  then ;  roll  them  up  !  Barrel,  hogs 
head,  demijohn,  -—  roll  them  up  !  that 's  it !  —  hurra  ! 
roll  them  up  !  ha,  ha !  Clean  them  out !  stave  them 
in  !  Hip,  hurra !  "  The  excitement  was  indeed  great. 

Giles  Standish  stood  alone,  viewing  the  destruction, 
though  he  dared  not  call  the  branded  articles  his  own 
13 


146  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

in  face  of  the  new  law.  He  stood  until  he  saw  the 
last  barrel  tapped,  the  tumblers  broken,  and  his  resort 
in  ruins. 

"  Ah,  ha  !  "  laughed  out  Dunlap,  as  they  rode  back ; 
"  that  is  as  rich  a  thing  as  I  have  seen,  this  many  a 
day.  Some  brave  folks  here;  we  must  hide  our 
liquors,  Diamond,  or  they  will  take  them." 

"  Jupiter  !  I  should  like  to  see  them  do  it." 

As  they  drove  on,  by  some  unaccountable  means,  Mr. 
Diamond  lost  his  way.  He  did  not  remember  the  wine 
which  had  warmed  him  before  he  set  out.  As  it  was, 
he  lost  his  way,  and  continued  to  drive  on  some  dis 
tance,  without  perceiving  his  mistake. 

"  I  declare,  Dunlap,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  I  believe  we 
are  out  of  the  way.  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  No,  we  are  right ;  we  shall  be  home  soon." 

But  before  long  they  entered  a  dark  wood,  which 
they  knew  was  not  on  the  right  road. 

"  No  such  place,  surely,  the  road  we  came." 

"  That  is  a  fact.  But  I  guess  there  is  some  kind 
of  a  place  when  we  are  through  these  woods.  I  rather 
like  it." 

It  was  evident  that  Fleet  was  tired.  She  began  to 
shake  her  head  and  droop  her  ears,  when  suddenly  she 
pricked  them  up  again,  whinnied,  and  started  off  at  a 
rapid  pace. 

"  Ha !  Fleet  knows  we  are  coming  to  habitations. 
That 's  the  way  she  always  does.  See  her  go  !  " 

The  animal  was  in  the  right,  for,  as  they  emerged 
from  the  woods,  a  machine-shop  stood  near  by,  in 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  147 

which  lights  were  burning  brightly.  Then  they  knew 
they  were  in  Bedford,  the  neighboring  village  to  Dur 
ham. 

"  Let  us  stop  here  and  get  warm,  anyhow,"  said  Mr. 
Diamond;  and,  taking  Fleet  into  a  shed,  they  covered 
her  with  a  blanket,  and  went  in. 

"  Whew !  don't  go  in  further,"  exclaimed  Diamond; 
"the  perfume  is  horrible." 

"0,  never  mind ;  we  shall  not  notice  it  when  we 
are  once  in.  It  is  very  apt  to  be  so,  —  come ;  "  and 
Dunlap  entered. 

"  Allow  us  to  warm  ourselves  by  the  furnace,  if  you 
please,"  he  said,  as  one  of  the  workmen  turned  towards 
him. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  short  answer ;  and  they  walked  in 
still  further. 

"  T'  other  way,"  called  out  a  man ;  "  furnace  is  in 
there,"  and  Dunlap  opened  the  door,  but  shut  it  again, 
saying, 

"  I  can't  stand  that  myself;  it  is  terrible  !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  go  in,  young  men?"  asked  another 
person.  "  It  is  warm  in  there." 

"  I  should  think  something  was  burning,"  replied 
Mr.  Dunlap.  "  Either  the  water  is  out  of  the  boiler, 
or  there  is  something  in  the  wood." 

One  of  the  workmen  stepped,  and  opened  the  door, 
and  shut  it  with  an  oath. 

"  Go  up  and  look  in  the  boiler,  Tim,"  said  the  one 
who  seemed  to  be  overseer.  "  Perhaps  the  water  is 
out." 


150  DURHAM    TILLAGE. 

your  parents  don't  know  of  your  brother's  condition, 
and  perhaps  you  can  do  the  thing  for  me." 

"  If  it  is  an  honorable  thing  to  do,  perhaps  I  can." 

"  No  dishonor  about  it.  You  see,  your  sister,  down 
there  in  the  city,  is  engaged  to  a  Mr.  Henley,  —  a  man 
whom  I  hate,  there 's  no  mincing  that.  Well,  he  has 
papers  of  mine  which  he  has  no  right  to.  I  know  he 
has  handed  them  over  to  Edith ;  she  has  had  them  for 
some  time.  I  have  tried  every  way  to  obtain  them,  — 
every  lawful  way.  Have  them  I  will.  Now,  if  you 
can  obtain  them  for  me,  I  will  keep  still  about  your 
brother ;  but,  if  you  will  not,  I  will  blazon  it  around 
the  town,  and  tell  your  parents,  too." 

"  If  you  suppose  you  can  intimidate  me  in  that  way, 
you  are  mistaken,  sir,"  replied  Julia,  with  a  calmness 
which  surprised  him,  for  he  had  understood  that  she 
was  a  timid  creature. 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,  Miss  Lundley ;  I  want  those 
papers,  and,  really,  you  can  obtain  them  easily.  Just 
write  for  them,  —  she  will  trust  them  with  you,  I 
know,  —  then  hand  them  to  me.  They  are  of  no  im 
portance  to  any  one  but  myself." 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing.  I  never  play  a  double 
part." 

"  But  you  must,  or  I  will  tell  everything  I  know. 
And  that  is  a  disgrace  you  cannot  well  endure." 

It  would  seem  that  Mr.  Dunlap  was  forgetting  his 
courteous  manners,  for  his  tone  now  was  rude  and  in 
solent.  Nevertheless,  Julia  did  not  appear  discon 
certed,  but  replied, 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  151 

"  I  think  it  must  come  from  a  more  reliable  source, 
before  it  will  be  believed." 

"  Few  believe  it !  I  can  bring  facts,  —  facts  that  I 
know  of.  Did  not  I  see  him  once  beat  his  head  against 
the  door,  and  howl?  Have  not  I  heard  him  use  oaths 
that  made  me  tremble,  though  I  am  used  to  oaths  ? 
Have  not  I  seen  him  under  the  table  in  my  own  room, 
and  had  him  carried  out  by  servants,  dead  drunk  ? 
Have  not  I  seen  him  — " 

"  Stop,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Julia,  rising  from  her  seat. 
"  I  bid  you  stop,  or  go." 

"  Ha !  well,  that  looks  rather  keen ;  I  like  it. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  softening  his  tone  a  little,  "  I 
do  not  mean  to  tell  all  this  but  to  you,  unless  you  will 
not  write  for  my  papers.  If  you  will  write  for  them, 
I  will  publish  another  story  around.  I  will  tell  them 
how  kind  he  is,  how  devoted,  —  worthy  the  care  of 
such  a  sister  ! "  he  added,  in  a  satirical  tone. 

"  If  you  suppose,  sir,  that  by  any  means  you  can 
drive  me  to  do  that  which  I  will  not  consent  to,  you 
do  not  understand  my  character,  or  my  will" 

"  You  will  not,  then  ? "  and  he  drew  his  chair  nearer 
her  side." 

She  neither  moved  hers,  nor  spoke. 

"  You  will  not,  then  ?  Well,  just  listen ;  "  and  he 
dropped  his  voice  into  a  thrilling  whisper.  "Listen; 
I  will  —  " 

"Stop,  sir!  —  I  command  you;  or  I  will  call  my 
father." 

"  0,  no,  that  you  will  not ; "  he  said,  putting  his 


152  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

arm  about  her,  and  holding  her  firmly  in  the  chair. 
"  I  mean  no  violence;  I  simply  want  you  to  hear  what 
I  have  to  say.  Well,  then,  I  will  —  " 

"  Let  me  go,  or  I  will  call  for  help  !  " 

"  No  use,  for  I  can  help  that,  —  stop  it  easily. 
Just  listen.  Your  brother  signed  a  paper,  —  I  made 
him  sign  it,  when  he  was  drunk,  —  a  paper  that  would 
carry  him  to  prison.  Do  you  hear  ?  But  that  is  not 
all ;  0,  no  !  —  " 

But,  ere  he  had  finished  the  sentence,  a  blow  fell 
upon  his  head,  and  he  dropped  to  the  floor. 

So  intense  had  been  his  excitement  that  he  had  not 
heard  the  soft,  sylph-like  tread  of  Mr.  Diamond,  who 
had  followed  him  thither  -and  listened  unseen  to  the 
whole  of  the  conversation,  and  ended  it  in  this  man 
ner, —  the  first  spirited  act  he  was  ever  guilty  of 
performing. 

Dunlap  almost  instantly  arose,  it  being  the  sudden 
ness,  rather  than  the  violence  of  the  blow,  which  had 
levelled  him. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Corneille  was  aroused.  The 
heavy  fall  of  the  man  had  jarred  her  room  to  such  a 
degree  as  to  awaken  her,  and,  springing  up,  she  hastened 
down  stairs  just  as  Dunlap  had  arisen,  and  seated 
himself  in  the  chair. 

"  0,  Mrs.  Corneille  !  "  exclaimed  Julia.  "  Hist ! 
be  silent;  but  come,  send  these  men  away." 

"  And  ken  ye  na  better  than  to  be  here  sich  an  hour 
o'  the  night  ?  Out  with  ye,  each  one,  or  I  '11  drive  ye 
out !  It 's  na  good  ye  are  here  for." 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  153 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  good  woman,"  replied  Mr. 
Diamond;  "this  friend  of  mine  is  very  pale,  and  I 
think  needs  care." 

"  Take  him  home  and  care  for  him,  then.  I  dinna 
like  the  looks  of  either  of  you,  and,  if  ye  winna  go 
soon,  I  will  see  that  ye  are  sent.  Come,  here!" 
and  she  opened  the  door  wide  upon  its  hinges,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  irresolute. 

"  Come,  I  say,  —  out  with  ye ;  na  's  the  good  ye  are 
after.  But  Miss  Julia  is  not  a  bird  of  your  kind. 
Come,  go ! " 

She  was  fairly  aroused,  and,  before  Mr.  Diamond 
could  make  his  exit,  she  seized  him,  unresisting,  by 
the  arm,  and  led  him  to  the  outer  door,  where  she 
gave  him  one  good  hard  push,  and  returned  after  Mr. 
Dunlap.  He  had  just  time  to  whisper  something  to 
Julia,  and  clench  his  fist,  ere  she  returned. 

"  Now,"  said  she,  "  out !  An  ye  have  na  manners, 
I  will  teach  you  some.  It 's  na  the  thing  for  ye  to  be 
here;  so,  come." 

Had  Mr.  Dunlap  not  seen  fit  to  go,  she  never  could 
have  led  him,  as  she  did  the  yielding  Diamond;  but 
the  truth  was,  he  felt  strangely,  and  thought  it  best  to 
reach  home  as  speedily  as  possible,  —  therefore  he 
went.  Mrs.  Corneille  doubly  barred  the  door,  and 
listened  long  to  be  sure  they  were  nowhere  about  the 
farm. 

It  was  not  the  fall  which  had  aroused  these  strange 
feelings  in  Mr.  Dunlap's  heart ;  but,  he  was  thwarted 
in  the  plans  where  hijsr  only  resource  lay.  He  had, 


154  DURHAM  VILLAGE. 

^unintentionally,  exposed  his  own  baseness,  and  was 
now  adrift. 

Early  the  next  morning,  the  sudden  departure  of 
the  city  gentlemen  filled  the  country  folks  with  sur 
prise,  and  brought,  for  a  few  days,  peace  to  Julia's 
agitated  heart. 


CHAPTER     XXIV. 

NO   HOPE. 

"  BLAZERS  !  I  never  seed  the  like  on  it.  I  thought 
I  'd  take  a  walk,  Mr.  Henley,"  said  Ephraim,  "  while 
master  was  asleep,  and  I  thought  I  should  never  get 
home  alive.  Such  a  driving  against  me,  and  a  knock 
ing  along !  I  had  to  turn  twice  to  see  if  they  had  n't 
tuk  off  a  piece  of  my  coat,  and  while  I  turned  to  look, 
whang  came  somebody  else,  right  butt  up !  Then  I 
got  ready  to  start  again,  and  went  to  turn  clear  out  for 
a  lady,  sir,  and  the  eend  of  a  horse's  nose  lit  on  my 
shoulder.  '  Look  out,  there ! '  screamed  a  voice.  Says 
I,  '  I  will,  if  you  '11  gin  me  time  to,'  and  on  I  came. 
I  seed  a  pictur,  in  the  winder,  of  some  first-rate  cattle 
and  I  thought  I'd  just  look.  If  I  didn't  pay  for't!  I 
got  more  knocks  than  there  were  minutes !  But,  thinks 
I,  I  '11  stand  here  till  you  're  done  knocking  agin  me ; 
and  there  I  stood.  'T  was  of  no  use ;  I  believe,  sir,  if 
I  'd  stayed  till  now,  they  'd  have  worn  my  breeches 
out !  Blazers !  " 

"  But  you  found  a  great  deal  to  see,  did  not  you  ? " 
"  Yes ;  but  the  best  thing  I  had  to  look  out  for  was 
myself.     I  don't  see  what  you  do  in  this  'ere  city,  — 
there 's  no  walking  neither  one  way  or  t'other." 


156  DURHAM  VILLAGE. 

"Well,  you  will  find  enough  to  do.  Your  poor 
master,  there,  will  need  you.  What  do  you  think  of 
him  ?  " 

Ephraim's  face  was  suddenly  elongated. 

"  Master  William,  sir,  is  a  gone  man.  Why,  his 
mind  is  just  nothing.  He  talks  like  a  boy,  —  not  an 
over  smart  one,  either,  —  and  he  does  not  remember, 
one  moment,  what  he  said  the  last.  No,  sir  ;  —  he  is 
lost!" 

"  We  must  watch  and  tend  him,  for  his  mother's 


"And  Grandma'am's." 

"  Yes,  yes;  there  is  sorrow  to  come,  there;  we  can 
not  save  him." 

At  this  moment  William  opened  the  parlor  door 
and  entered,  staggering  to  the  sofa. 

"  Give  me  more  to  drink !  Heavens !  how  I  feel ! 
Here,  Ephraim,  here,  —  there ;  not  there  —  here  !  I 
must  go  down  and  see  to  business,  soon  —  only 
strengthen  me  for  it.  Where 's  Dithie  ?  I  don't  like 
her  much ;  she  's  a  sober  thing !  "  and  thus  he  talked 
on,  until  they  carried  him,  a  senseless  man,  to  his 
room. 

"  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Henley,  he  has  had  the  last  drop 
he  gits  while  I  'm  here.  I  won't  leave  him,  day  nor 
night ;  he  shan't  have  it.  I  '11  hold  him  down  with  my 
whole  strength,  or  I  '11  tie  him  down,"  said  Ephraim, 
as  they  laid  him  on  the  bed. 

Presently  he  commenced  to  laugh  out  like  a  child, 
and  twirl  his  handkerchief  around  his  hand. 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  157 

"  Ha,  ha !  see,  won't  you  ?  Red,  white  and  blue ! 
ha,  ha!  Eph,  why  don't  you  laugh?  See  it!  see 
it ! "  and,  in  the  midst  of  this  excitement,  he  fell 
asleep. 

From  that  hour  Ephraim  would  not  leave  him,  un 
less  Mr.  Henley  were  with  him.  With  almost  the  ten 
derness  of  a  woman,  this  rough  fellow  nursed  him ;  he 
followed  him,  he  led  him,  he  fed  him.  It  was  singular 
to  see  this  apparently  harsh  nature  so  gentle  with  that 
imbecile  man. 

"  It  is  for  the  love  of  him,"  old  Ephraim  would  say; 
"  the  love  for  his  mother,  —  and  I  cannot  leave  him." 

But  there  was  no  hope.  For  a  month  he  thus 
watched  and  bore  him  through  the  agonies  of  a  drunk 
ard  deprived  of  his  cup,  —  and  yet  there  was  no  hope. 
His  mind  was  gone,  —  gone  forever ;  such  must  he  be 
for  time,  and  what  shall  he  be  in  eternity  ? 

This  news  must  soon  come  to  the  home  circle.  The 
time  for  Edith's  marriage  was  near  at  hand,  and 
Ephraim  could  not  remain  much  longer.  He  must 
take  William  to  his  home.  How  should  it  be  told  ? 
Should  Edith  write  to  her  father  ?  She  did  try,  but  her 
heart  failed  her.  Should  she  inform  her  mother  ?  She 
did  try;  —  "  Alas !  my  mother  !  "  was  all  she  wrote, 
—  and  again  her  heart  failed.  No,  no !  Julia  must 
tell  them,  —  it  could  not  be  written;  and  thus  she 
penned  her  letter  to  the  frail  sister.  It  must  be  hers 
to  announce  it,  —  God  help  her  ! 

And  thus  William  passed  out  from  that  city  circle. 
He  who  had  been  one  of  the  first  in  its  gay  life  had 
14 


158  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

left  it,  and  yet  it  rolled  on,  bearing  others  to  the  same 
haven;  —  others,  by  whom  no  honest  Ephraim  could 
watch ;  others,  for  whom  no  sisters'  prayers  were  as 
cending  ;  others,  upon  whom  as  fond  mothers  were  dot 
ing,  and  upon  whom  as  dear  a  father's  peace  was  rest 
ing.  Yet  they  must  die  fools ! 

Dashing,  noisy,  bustling  city !  Temptation  is  in  her 
wine-cup,  and  death  in  her  choice  pleasures. 

Young  William,  is  it  for  thee  ? 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE   TWO   SIDES. 

THE  liquor-bill  excitement  was  intense  throughout 
the  city.  Merchants  debated  it  in  their  stores,  clerks 
in  their  shops,  bankers  in  their  counting-rooms,  law 
yers  in  their  offices,  physicians  with  their  patients ;  — 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  from  the  moneyed  gen 
tleman  of  La  Grange  Place  to  the  Irish  laborer  in 
Dun  Lane.  The  liquor-bill  ?  It  seemed  to  have  dif 
fused  some  of  its  very  essence  into  the  mass  of  the 
people,  for  it  reached  every  nerve  of  society,  and  set 
the  whole  into  a  ferment. 

One  grand  pro-liquor-bill  meeting  was  announced, 
to  be  held  in  Downing's  Hall.  Another,  of  oppo 
site  politics,  in  the  Thantix  Room.  Down  at  the 
West  End  a  lecturer  was  to  harangue  the  people ;  and, 
up  to  the  North,  a  "  gentleman  of  high  rank"  was  to 
lead  the  van  for  liquor. 

Mr.  Henley  heard  of  these  meetings,  and,  thinking 
it  might  give  Ephraim  a  chance  to  see  the  stand  of 
temperance  in  the  city,  he  offered  to  take  charge  of 
William,  and  let  him  go. 

"  Go ! "  said  Ephraim,  half-laughing  and  half  in 
earnest,  "I  don't  know  the  way  to  one  of  the  places." 


160  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  Follow  the  crowd,  my  man ;  they  will  lead  you 
right." 

"  I  guess  I  shall  go  all  sorts  of  ways,  then." 

"  Where  would  you  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  'd  like  to  get  a  spice  of  all.  I  '11  try  my  luck 
again,"  and  off  he  started. 

"  I  guess  I  '11  let  the  folks  that  are  going  right 
alone,  and  see  how  them  comes  on  that  goes  agin  the 
stream,  down  there  at  Thantix  Room,"  he  said  to  him 
self. 

"  Hulloa,  sir ! "  he  called  to  a  gentleman  who  was 
passing  rapidly  by  him.  "  Hulloa  !  Can  you  tell  me 
the  way  to  Thantix  Room  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  'in  bound  there.  Come  with  me ;  it  is  not 
far ;  "  and  they  turned  the  street,  and  were  soon  among 
the  densely  compacted  people. 

It  was  not  here,  as  in  Durham,  only  the  offscouring 
of  the  inhabitants  who  composed  this  meeting.  This 
class  were  there,  but  mingled  with  them  there  were  also 
men  of  wealth,  learning  and  intelligence.  Lawyers, 
physicians,  merchants  and  honest  mechanics,  were 
crowded  in  unseemly  confusion  with  keepers  of  rum- 
holes,  and  blacklegs  and  "  loafers,"  while  here  and  there 
sat  a  poor  victim  of  the  vice,  who  could  scarcely  steady 
himself  in  his  seat  without  the  aid  of  his  neighbors. 

Ephraim  made  the  best  of  his  way  into  the  room, 
and  edged  himself  along  so  as  to  be  able  to  listen  to 
the  speaker,  who  was  then  discussing  the  impossibility 
of  keeping  intoxicating  drinks  from  the  people. 

"  Citizens,"  he  continued,  "  you  can  never  accom- 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  161 

plisli  this.  In  this  immense  city  it  will  be  smuggled 
in.  Men  will  have  it  —  men  must  have  it;  but,  be 
cause  we  advocate  this,  we  do  not  necessarily  advocate 
brutal  drinking  —  not  one  of  us !  We  are  not  respons 
ible  for  that ;  it  rests  with  the  man  himself.  And, 
because  he  will  debase  himself,  is  this  a  reason  why  we 
must  be  without  these  necessary  articles  in  our  fami 
lies  ?  It  is  of  no  use  to  point  us  to  the  drunkard  and 
to  say,  *  There  is  your  principle  illustrated.'  It  is  of  no 
use  to  take  us  to  the  homes  of  penury  and  degradation, 
and  to  tell  us,  «  See  your  victims.'  It  is  of  no  use  to 
lead  us  to  the  prison  and  the  gallows,  and  to  say, 
*  These  are  your  men.'  They  are  not  our  men,  or  illus 
trations  of  our  principles !  We  are  not  voting  for  drunk 
ards,  but  we  are  voting  that  each  man  may  have  his 
liberty,  —  liberty  to  buy  and  sell !  If  men  will  drink 
to  excess,  they  are  the  fools,  —  we  are  not.  We  con 
tend  for  liberty,  and  have  sense  enough  to  keep  sober! " 

"  Hark !  hear  him !  hear  him !  Good !  that 's 
right !  "  called  out  many  voices  around  Ephraim. 

"  Hear  him  ? "  replied  Ephraim,  "  I  guess  I  do,  — 
and  not  much  the  better  for  it,  either.  Hang  it !  I 
wish  Parson  Dole  was  here ;  he  'd  show  up  that  feller. 
I  'd  try  it  myself,  if  I  was  glib  o'  tongue.  I  could 
talk  sense,  anyhow,  and  that 's  more  than  you  get  here, 
—  so  I'm  off."  He  edged  his  way  out  again,  and, 
accosting  a  man  who  left  the  room  at  the  same  time, 
he  asked  if  he  would  tell  him  the  way  to  Dunning's 
Hall. 

"Yes;  take  this  street,  turn  down  the  left-hand 
14* 


162  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

side,  go  on  and  take  the  next  turn,  then  keep  straight 
on  until  you  get  to  the  arch ;  then  wheel  round  to  the 
right,  turn  again  to  the  left,  and  keep  straight  on.  It 
will  take  you  right  there  in  a  jiffy." 

"  Blazers !  I  should  think  it  might.  An't  there  no 
nearer  way  ? " 

"No,  guess  not;  that 's  easy  finding,  sure." 

"  Easy  as  nothing,"  replied  Ephraim,  and  walked 
on.  Soon  he  met  another  person,  and  asked  him  the 
way. 

"  Just  in  front,  there ;  it 's  in  full  sight.  There  is 
a  good  speaker  there ;  you  'd  better  hurry  ;  "  and  on 
he  went. 

Ephraim  found  his  way  easily,  and  entered,  but  was 
so  perfectly  bewildered  at  "  that  fellow's  thundering 
impudence  "  just  before,  that  he  stood  for  some  time 
without  hearing  a  word ;  but,  as  the  speaker  grew  more 
earnest,  and  gave  full  vent  to  his  feelings,  he  listened. 

"  Citizens,"  he  said,  "  you  can  accomplish  this  ? 
Work !  work  like  men !  It  is  no  child's  play.  You 
cannot  stand  idle ;  there  must  be  hard  work,  or  the 
wheel  will  not  turn.  Let  each  man  do  his  duty,  by 
word,  by  action,  by  vote,  by  the  life  —  every  man  of 
us!  we  cannot  spare  one.  The  trouble  is,  you  are 
willing  enough  to  vote  rightly,  but  you  will  not  spend 
the  time  in  working  for  it.  How  many  will  vote  for 
our  temperance  mayor?  This  will  be  a  grand  bulwark 
for  us.  We  must  work  for  it,  we  must  toil  for  it ;  and 
be  men  —  honest  to  our  country,  to  ourselves,  and  to 
God." 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  163 

"  Why  did  n't  I  come  here  in  the  first  on 't  ? "  thought 
Ephraim,  as  the  speaker  closed.  "  However,  I  will  go 
and  ask  him  what  he  really  thinks  of  the  votes,  —  how 
they  '11  go."  And  so  he  waited  until  the  crowd  had 
disappeared,  and  the  speaker  came  down  the  aisle ;  then 
he  stepped  towards  him,  and  accosted  him. 

"  Please  to  tell  me,  sir,  if  temperance  is  on  the  rise, 
here  ?  " 

"  Not  here.     I  am  sorry  to  say,  we  are  far  down." 
"  Don't  they  try  to  aid  it,  sir  ?  " 
"  0,  yes ;  but  we  must  abide  our  time." 
"  Vote  goes  for  the  liquor  mayor,  then,  I  take  it  ?  " 
"  Yes ;  and,  for  the  present,  our  city  is  lost.    But 
we  are  not  discouraged.     It  will  teach  us  to  do  more 
next  year.;> 

Ephraim  walked  slowly  home. 
"  Bad  business !  "  he  soliloquized.     "  How  many  on 
'em  there  are,  like  young  master  as  he  was  one  year 
ago,  who  will  be  like  him  as  he  is  now !  and  all  be 
cause  folks  WON'T  THINK  !  " 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE   RETRIBUTION. 

THE  mail-stage  drove  furiously  on,  —  down  the  hill, 
up  the  hill,  furiously ;  that  is,  when  the  snow  would 
allow,  for  here  it  was  drifted  heavily,  and  there  was 
a  mile  with  scarce  a  flake.  It  was  that  uncomfortable 
kind  of  travelling  which  makes  stage-drivers  cross, 
and  the  passengers  ill  at  ease.  Joe,  the  driver,  surely 
was  cross  to-day,  for  his  poor  horses  showed  marks  of 
more  than  one  fit  of  irritability  on  his  part,  and  just 
now  were  straining  every  nerve  to  trot  fast  enough  to 
please  him,  and  avoid,  if  possible,  another  cut  from 
his  heavy  whip-lash.  But  in  vain ;  down  came  the 
whip  with  emphasis,  and  all  the  four  broke  at  once  in 
to  a  round  gallop. 

Just  at  this  moment  a  man  emerged  from  the  woods 
some  distance  ahead,  and  beckoned. 

"  Hulloa,  there !     Mister,  —  stop !  " 

Joe  drew  in  the  lines  with  his  full  strength,  but  not 
with  much  success. 

"  Whoa,  whoa !  Stop  you "  The  words  were 

lost,  but  they  seemed  to  have  an  instantaneous  effect 
upon  the  animals.  They  stood  still. 

"  I  say,  mister ;  here 's  a  man  tipped  over  in  his 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  165 

wagon,  rolled  into  a  kind  of  a  frog-pond  here,  and  froze 
to  death.  He 's  stiff  as  buckram,  and  his  wagon  is 
broke.  I  can'L  get  him  up  ;  he 's  froze  down  tight. 
I  say,  I  should  think  he  'd  been  here  a  week.  Give 
us  your  help." 

The  travellers  were  soon  out  from  the  stage,  and 
upon  the  spot. 

"  If  it  an't  old  Giles  Standish ! "  exclaimed  Joe. 
"  How  on  arth  did  he  come  here? " 

"  Here  's  a  jug  of  rum,"  said  another ;  "  that  is  the 
reason." 

"  He 's  been  off  for  liquor,  and  got  too  much  for  his 
good.  There  an't  many  down  there  in  Durham  that  '11 
mourn  for  him.  He  's  got  a  big  account  to  square  up 
now ;  I  'm  glad  I  an't  he." 

"  I  guess  he  has,  if  for  all  the  names  he  put  down  in 
lis  book  the  Lord  put  down  agin  him." 

"Yes,  think  on't.  I've  buyed  liquor  on  him  my 
self —  first-rate  raw  material ;  but  sometimes  he  was 
a  beast  at  selling,  I  remember." 

"Come,"  said  Joe;  "  can't  stop  for  your  memory. 
It 's  an  all-fired  cold  day.  Take  him  up,  and  we  '11 
carry  him  along." 

"  Take  him  up  ?  Let 's  see  you  do  it !  I  tell  you 
he 's  froze  stiff.  See  there  !  "  and  the  man  put  out 
his  foot,  and  gave  the  body  a  kick.  "  You  see  he 
won't  move." 

"  You  take  hold  of  his  feet,  and  I  of  his  head ; 
we  '11  see  if  we  can't." 

It  was  an  awful  sight.     It  seemed  as  though  that 


166  DURHAM  TILLAGE. 

body  were  nothing  but  a  log  of  wood  to  them.  They 
kicked  against  it,  they  pried  under  it  with  sticks,  they 
knocked  it  with  an  iron  wrench  from  ^ie  stage  ;  but 
it  all  was  of  no  use. 

"  Can't  do  it,"  said  Joe.  "  Leave  him  there ;  he  '11 
keep.  We  '11  send  some  warm  water  to  thaw  him  out; 
or  let  the  sun  do  it.  Nobody  cares  for  him.  Miss 
Standish  will  be  glad  on  't.  She  '11  be  happier  than 
she  's  been  this  ten  year.  Come,  passengers,  aboard ; 
all  in,  —  horses  will  get  cold ;  come,"  and  in  a  few 
minutes  Joe  was  thundering  on.  As  soon  as  he  reached 
a  house,  he  went  in  and  told  the  news,  and  started  off 
again. 

Poor  •  Giles  Standish  !  He  did  find,  indeed,  a 
drunkard's  burial;  for,  having  succeeded  in  thawing  him 
up,  the  men  placed  him,  with  an  oath,  into  a  pine  coffin, 
put  it  in  a  light  wagon,  and  trotted  him  on  to  his 
grave ! 

The  same  stage  that  brought  this  news  into  Dur 
ham  brought,  also,  a  letter  for  Julia  Lundley,  and 
one  for  her  father.  Hers  she  knew  was  from  Edith, 
and  she  retired  to  her  room  to  read  it.  Edith  was 
married,  and  she  had  written  that  letter  to  request 
Julia  to  inform  her  parents  of  the  sad  necessity  of 
William's  removal  home. 

She  had  sat  long  after  she  had  finished  the  letter, 
prostrated  with  sorrow,  —  she  knew  not  how  long, 
—  but  a  knock  at  the  door  roused  her.  It  was 
her  father.  She  started.  She  felt  that  the  truth 
must  be  spoken.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  he  laid  his 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  1G7 

hand  upon  her  head,  leaned  heavily,  and  the  tears 
rolled  down  upon  her  forehead. 

"  Read  this,  Julia.  It  is  a  letter  from  Mr.  Dunlap. 
Is  it  true  ?  0,  my  head !  my  heart !  Julia,  your 
mother  !  "  and,  as  she  took  the  letter  to  read,  she 
heard  the  heart  beat  violently  and  convulsively  in  her 
father's  breast,  and  felt  the  necessity  of  being  calm. 

She  read  it.  Mr.  Dunlap  had  fulfilled  his  threat  to 
the  very  letter,  and  there  was  not  a  thing  forgotten. 
It  was  a  long  and  brutal  letter ;  but  it  was  the  truth, 
and  Julia  did  not  think  it  best  to  soften  it  down,  or  try 
to  palliate  it. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Lundley  opened  the  door. 

"  I  know  there  is  bad  news  of  some  kind  in  those 
letters.  I  am  prepared  for  it,  even  though  it  be  death. 
God  will  strengthen  us  for  that.  Is  it  Edith,  or  is  it 
my  precious  son  ?  " 

"  0,  mother  !  it  is  worse  than  death  !  read  it." 

She  took  the  letters  and  read  them,  calmly,  without 
a  tear.  She  had  just  arisen  from  prayer.  She  had 
felt  a  strange  assurance  that  there  was  trial  for  her  in 
those  papers,  and  she  had  first  sought  her  room  and 
prayed  for  strength  to  endure.  She  had  asked  for 
resignation,  she  had  pleaded  for  submission ;  and  God 
shielded  her  now  under  the  shadow  of  his  wing. 

"  Our  help  cometh  from  the  Lord,"  she  said,  as  she 
laid  the  letters  upon  the  table,  and  dropped  upon  her 
knees.  Julia  and  her  father  knelt,  also.  There  was 
no  audible  voice  in  that  still  chamber,  but,  if  Heaven 


168  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

ever  heard  earnest  prayers,  they  went  up  from  that 
broken-hearted  circle. 

"  Mother,"  said  Julia,  the  day  they  looked  for  the 
arrival,  "  I  have  arranged  things  pleasantly  for  him. 
I  hope  he  will  love  to  be  with  us." 

And  how  thoughtfully  she  did  arrange  everything  ! 
How  tastefully  she  placed  the  books  !  She  could  not 
realize  that  her  brother  would  not  notice  them,  and 
that  it  was  but  a  thankless  task ! 

Alas  for  that  home  when  he  did  enter !  —  and  he 
did  come  soon.  Ephraim  lifted  him  from  the  wagon, 
and  supported  him  in.  He  smiled  to  his  mother,  and 
Julia  kissed  him ;  but  there  was  no  mind  left.  A 
poor,  broken-down  man,  he  was  brought  to  his  home. 
He  had  been  his  own  destroyer.  He  had  debased  the 
mind  to  its  terrible  idiocy.  When  the  Lord  cometh  to 
judge  him  for  his  ten  talents,  lo!  he  hath  not  ONE  ! 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE   PROPOSAL. 

"  I  TELL  you,  Miss  Corneille,"  said  Ephrairn,  as  they 
sat  alone  together,  "  I  tell  you,  Edith  's  got  a  nice 
man." 

"So  I've  heard." 

"A  first-rate  one.  Think  of  his  giving  Mrs.  Rob 
erts  a  home  with  them ;  —  she  's  a  lady,  I  tell  you. 
You  never  seed  her,  did  you?  " 

"  Na,  na;  but  I  luve  her  for  all  she  's  done  for  Mais- 
ter  William." 

"  You  do,  don't  ye  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  I  do.  She  was  kind  to  him  as  an  ain 
sister." 

"  So  are  you.  Poor  fellow !  it 's  my  life's  work  to 
take  care  of  him." 

"  And  it 's  bonriie  that  ye  're  able  to  do  it.  It  is  a 
pleasure." 

"  You  think  so,  don't  ye?  I  am  glad;  so  do  I.  It 's 
well  when  two  agree." 

"We  always  agree." 

"  We  did,  did  n't  we  ?  we  never  had  words,  either. 
Now,  that 's  queer,  an't  it  ?  " 

"  I  hope  we  never  shall." 
15 


170  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

"  So  do  I ;  "  and  Ephraim  drew  his  chair  close  to 
her  side. 

"  We  think  alike,  you  said  ?  " 

"  Yes,  on  a'most  everything ;  don't  we  ?  " 

"  Can't  we  on  all,  Miss  Corneille,  hey  ?  Well,  there 
now>  I — I  —  »  Ephraim  drew  a  long  ahem  —  "I  was 
a  thinking,"  he  continued,  "  it 's  kind  of  stormy  out-of 
doors ;  "  and  he  rose  and  went  to  the  window.  "  'T  an't 
either ;  it 's  as  light  as  day,  and  the  moon  is  out  as 
bright.  Miss  Corneille,  I  somehow  am  kind  of  tired 
of  living  alone;  somehow  I  —  I  think  I'd  like  to  have 
you.  Blazers!  It 's  out  now  !  " 

"  Ye  're  honest,  my  man,  and  I  weel  be  sa,  too.  My 
heart  lies  where  I  buried  it,  in  my  Jamie's  grave.  I 
canna  marry  again." 

"  Can't  you  ?  Well,  then,  it 's  all  up  with  me.  I 
kind  of  liked  you  when  I  first  seed  you,  and  I  kind  of 
like  you  now.  You  can't,  can  you  ?  " 

"  Na,  na,  Ephraim ;  I  will  help  ye  wi'  the  care  of 
young  maister,  and  sa  we  twa  weel  live  for  the 
present." 

".Well,  I  don't  like  to  ask  again,  it 's  such  queer 
work  ;  but,  if  ye  ever  change  your  mind,  just  let  me 
know." 

Julia  now  opened  the  door,  and  entered  with  a 
newspaper. 

"Mrs.  Corneille,"  she  exclaimed,  "where  do  you 
think  Dunlap  has  gone,  now  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  " 

"Sailed  for   Paris;  takes  up  his  residence  there. 


DURHAM    VILLAGE.  171 

Mr.  Diamond  has  taken  out  a  Miss  Bellmont  as  his 

bride,  and  they  have  sailed  together." 

"  They  '11  have  to  take  something  in  for  ballast," 

said  Ephraim.     "  It 's  a  light  crew." 

"  I  imagine  he  was  obliged  to  leave  the  country." 
"  The   more   such  as   he  goes,  the  better,"  replied 

Ephraim.     "  There  they  will  drink  and  dance  out  of 

this  world  into  the  next !  " 


CHAP  TEE    XXVIII. 

REST. 

JULIA  had  been  for  two  months  a  confirmed  invalid. 
She  had  lived  through  the  hard  winter,  but  when  the 
spring  came  on  she  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  and 
knew  that  her  hours  were  numbered.  Yet  without  a 
fear  she  lookejl  on  through  the  dark  valley,  and  longed 
to  pass  through  it  to  her  rest. 

Mr.  Henshaw  had  passed  the  last  six  months  at  the 
south,  but  was  expected  soon  in  Durham.  She  did 
not,  indeed,  feel  the  want  of  kind  friends,  for  she  was 
surrounded  with  them ;  but  she  longed  once  more  to 
see  the  friend  of  her  choice,  and  felt  sure  she  should 
not  be  disappointed. 

Among  those  who  called  often  to  see  her  was  Frank 
Downer.  It  seemed  as  though  he  could  never  weary 
in  serving  her.  He  would  read  to  her ;  he  would  sit 
by  her  and  watch  over  her  like  a  brother,  and  would 
never  leave  her  without  expressing  his  great  indebted 
ness  to  her. 

"  I  owe  it  all  to  you,  Julia,"  he  said,  one  day,  as  he 
rose  to  go.  "  I  owe  my  reformation  to  you,  and  I  can 
never  thank  you  enough." 

"  Not  to  me,  Frank.     You  have  resisted  well,  and 


DURHAM  VILLAGE.  173 

God  has  helped  you.  There  is  one  thing  more  I 
earnestly  desire  for  you,  —  a  Christian  heart." 

He  stepped  towards  her  bed,  and,  taking  her  hand 
in  his,  he  said, 

"Julia,  I  could  not  thus  see  you  wasting  away, — 
I  could  not  bear  it, — if  I  had  not  trust  in  Christ.  By 
the  grace  of  God  helping  me,  I  have  commenced  a 
new  life." 

"  And  you  will  be  a  minister,  too  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  God  bless  you !  "  an*  she  laid  her  hands  upon  his 
head,  and  was  silent.  Then,  after  a  moment,  she 
spoke  again. 

"  You  must  comfort  Henry,  when  I  am  gone." 

"  He  comes  to-morrow,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  I  hope  to  see  him  once  more.  I  am  very 
weary." 

The  morning  came,  bright  and  beautiful,  and  with 
the  early  rising  of  the  sun  Mr.  Henshaw  was  seen 
walking  rapidly  to  the  farm. 

"  How  is  she  ? "  he  asked  of  Ephraim,  who  met  him 
in  the  yard. 

"  Ah,  sir,  she  's  most  home." 

"  Can  I  see  her,  mother  ? "  he  inquired,  as  Mrs. 
Lundley  met  him. 

"  Yes,  she  watches  for  you  every  moment.  Be  calm, 
for  her  sake,  and  for  ours." 

"  I  will !  "  and  he  went  in  calmly,  and  even  cheer 
fully. 

There  she  lay,  watching  the  opening  of  the  door, 
15* 


174:  DURHAM    VILLAGE. 

earnestly,  and,  as  he  opened  it,  the  blood  started  to  her 
pale  lips,  and  tinged  her  cheeks. 

Thus  he  sat  by  her  all  the  day,  and,  as  evening 
drew  on,  death  came  too.  She  had  arranged  the  little 
affairs  of  earth ;  she  had  seen  her  dearest  friend ;  — 
there  was  no  more  that  kindest  care  could  do  for  her, 
and  now  she  must  meet  death  alone;  and  thus  she  did 
meet  it.  It  was  a  hard  conflict;  struggling,  still 
struggling,  —  clouds  deepening  around  her ;  but  in 
the  morning  starlight  she  sank  to  rest. 

Days,  and  months,  and  years,  rolled  by.  Oftentimes 
old  Ephraim  led  the  poor  idiot  to  the  grave  of  his  sis 
ter  ;  oftentimes  tiny  feet  walked  the  green  path,  and 
little  hands  strewed  flowers  over  the  place  where  she 
slept ;  oftentimes  Edith  came  thither  to  weep  for  one 
who  had  gone  down  sorrow-stricken  to  her  early  rest ; 
oftentimes  one  solitary  mourner  came  thither;  early  in 
the  morning,  ere  the  sun  had  chased  away  the  night- 
tears,  or  the  forest  bird  ceased  her  moaning,  he 
was  there ;  late  in  the  evening,  when  only  the  gentle 
moon  was  witness  of  his  manly  sorrow,  he  stood  there 
—  and  could  not  be  comforted,  save  with  the  assurance 
that  he  should  meet  her  yet  again. 


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